Always and Always
by KitCat Italica
Summary: By tricking a frigid biomedical engineer and a harlequin surrogate mother, Bruce and Joker have achieved the ultimate union. B/J slash and large amounts of ooc-ish fluff be found here, ye be warned. :D
1. Always and Always

Always and Always

Chapter 1

Joker lay on his back, completely and utterly content. One arm tucked behind his head on the cloud-like pillow; the other rested lazily on his chest in peaceful abandon, while his left leg crossed over his right. He heaved a deep sigh as he closed his eyes in satisfaction, letting the afterglow of a long and fulfilling day lap at his humming skin in soft angel-kisses. Gently heaving up his eyelids after a moment or two, he cast his gaze to the left, where the brilliance of a retiring sun sent warm echoes of pleasure over the world outside, bidding a quiescent farewell to the frabjous day that had passed.

Today had been so fully gratifying. And so much fun. He hadn't played at the games like that in a long while. He hadn't ever, actually. Not like today. The frolic on the grounds had been fun enough to start with, after the endless round of hide-and-seek, and then towards dusk the _bats_ had come out to hunt…he could still hear the shrill squeaks of startled laughter from the three of them as they jumped up as high as they could, trying to catch one in their hands, only to let it go in a giggly scream of panic as it flapped about in their eager palms.

He sniggered softly to himself at the memory of her face when she had caught her first bat. She had named it Daddy. He had laughed at her choice of a name, saying that she was a girl, not a bat, so how could a bat be her father? She looked at him – that credulous, irresistible _look_ of hers – and stated in her matter-of-fact tone that she had no doubt inherited somewhere, "But Daddy _is_ a Bat, isn't he?"

He smiled wider than his scars would allow him at her stated question. So she had finally put the puzzle pieces together, and had connected the black suit with the creature and motives behind it. She had always been the smart one. Too smart for her age, and he sometimes felt as if she knew it. Knew that she was ahead of the curve. That she was different.

His eyes left the sunset outside the balcony and drifted to his right, towards the middle of the bed where she lay. Poor little squirt, so tuckered out she was almost asleep. She lay with her head just below the gap between two pillows, her tiny body curled up on her side in the personification of childhood comfort. She had nothing to fear here, for here she was safe, she was home. And she was loved. Loved so much it often surprised him. But, he supposed, for what – and who – she was, she deserved no less.

She was different – that much was clear, from just the look in her eyes, the way she carried herself as she discovered the world in ways that baffled most adults around her. She was smart, inquisitive, and altogether so beautifully _innocent._ That alone would have garnered attention from any criminal, not to mention the likes of him. But it did not fully encompass why he doted on her so much. That reason, most likely, stemmed from the reason of _why_ she was different.

It was because she was his.

And, even more sacred, because she was _his_, too.

It still did not fully compute with him why he had brought it up that night five years ago. As all things did with him, it had started out as a joke. They had chuckled at the idea together, and had proceeded to carry on with the night as if nothing had been said. But it still nagged at the back of his mind, for reasons he couldn't fathom. Apparently, it had nagged at Bruce for a while, too, for he had brought it up again not a week later. And again, and again, it had wormed its way into their post-coital conversations, until Joker finally came to realize that maybe it was turning into more than just a passing fancy.

Night after night, they each dwelt on it alone in their thoughts, covertly feeling each others' flesh in soft, almost curious manners, knowing full well that they were both imagining what it would be like to join their flesh together. Not in the proverbial sense that they had already done for years, of bringing their bodies into "union" through copulation, but by literally combining and blending their features seamlessly together to create one living, breathing entity of both their images…

Somehow, some way, one night they agreed to do it. And he figured out just how to go about it, too. Being a high-profile crime lord had its perks, for the job naturally came with all sorts of connections. As always, the plan was held together with sweat, circumstance, and luck, but with the right amount of each there was a smidgen of a chance that it would work. Of course, the odds could be dipped into their favor with a certain degree of trickery, and that was an area in which he was unsurpassed.

The more difficult of the two he had to dupe had been Freeze. Fortunately the scientist had gone more than a little phrenetic in searching for a cure for his dead wife, and with enough sweet-tongued persuasion the harlequin had convinced him that the two vials' milky contents could be engineered to create a tiny version of her, to be carefully grown in secret until she could be resurrected. Thinking he was saving Nora, Dr. Victor Fries became the man who had performed the miracle Batman and Joker had been searching for: he had unified them together in the most primordial of ways. Once the zygote was formed, his lab was mysteriously trashed, and all products of his endeavors vanished without a trace.

The easier – yet more time-consuming and thus exasperating – stage of the plan was Harley. She would travel to the ends of the Earth and throw herself off the edge if her Mr. J ordered her to. And when he announced he was to make her fertile again…oh, how she had squealed with glee! The procedure was quickly carried out at Gotham General, and he had carefully and secretly implanted the single embryo within her, along with all his most hidden of hopes. Why he hoped for it to work so much, he wasn't sure; he just knew that it had to happen. For now that the plan was actually _working_, and that – if the planets aligned – it still _could_ work…it seemed more real to him than ever before.

Harley became a ticking time bomb from the day she tested positive, and Joker was growing more impatient by the minute for this one to detonate. He watched her abdomen swell with each passing day, stroking it at night with a smile on his lips, knowing just whose child lay within the surrogate mother.

When Ivy rushed to her friend's side to deliver, she barely had time to swaddle the baby before the room exploded in flame. He grabbed the bundle and fled, taking the child off to its other parent, who had unknowingly waited as impatiently for its – for _her_ – arrival as he had. Just as nervously, too, they soon realized, as Bruce held their daughter in his arms for the first time.

_Their_ daughter.

Joker's little girl.

Bruce's baby darling.

Their pride and joy.

All their own.

_Theirs._

And no one ever knew.

It had been announced not a week after her explosive birth that Bruce Wayne had been spurred by an overwhelming sense of public duty and celebrity custom to adopt a baby girl, to raise as his ward and take her from rock-bottom to the peak of financial success. Meanwhile, all Joker's fellow villains believed him and Harley to have a bright-eyed, healthy four-year-old daughter, born of fire into the night as thus befit the Princess of Anarchy.

But no one, not even Alfred, knew that she belonged to both of them. She was their greatest secret. Their buried, closely-guarded treasure.

He moved his hand from his chest to stroke his treasure's hair, sifting through its soft, silky blonde curls that so mirrored his own (when undyed). Closer to her scalp at the nape of her neck, however, he found the flaxen locks gave way to a darker hue that bordered on brunette. Bruce's hair color. He weaved absently through the chocolate waves, just as he had done countless times with his lover, who lay on the opposite side of her in the same dream-like doze he had found himself in just moments ago. His eyes roamed to the man's forehead and cheekbones, so effortlessly engraved on the sweet young face between them. But her nose and lips, Bruce had often remarked, resembled Joker's best, and he took great pride in that fact whenever she pouted at her richer father if she didn't get her way. He knew he had shown that exact same expression to Batman for years, and it pleased him that it was a trait that lingered on through his genome.

It was a curious fact that he still couldn't completely wrap his mind around: he would linger on. And so would Bruce. Even when the two of them would inevitably die, they had a perfectly-built time capsule to carry on their blood. Their souls.

And their struggle.

For he saw it in her, little by little every day. How she would be torn between carefully unfolding a birthday present and ripping the wrappings to shreds. How she would catch herself squashing a cockroach without a care, only to turn around and wonder if maybe she should have given it a fair trial beforehand.

If they were two halves of the same whole, then she was the unfortunate conglomeration. She stood at the crossroads of their two chosen paths, formed from the same eternal bond that united them and tore their beings to ribbons in the effort to bind each other together. She was an anomaly, and he couldn't ignore the future for much longer. For how could he, when the future was etched on the unnaturally perfect face of the child who slept between the two warring forces?

But she couldn't even begin to fathom how special her case was. How she was a biomedically engineered black swan, who should never have existed but against all odds had written her name on the pages of time. How she was the genetic product of two men, one of whom killed while laughing and the other of whom buried his tears with justice. How no one could know of her true parentage, or everyone on both sides of the divide would stop at nothing to yank her over to their side, only to send her falling through into the chasm. How one day, her fathers would teach her to throw knives and batarangs, to carve smiles and stitch wounds, to paint her face and clean her armor. And one day, how the three of them would have to choose between their cause, and each other.

But until that day came, they would continue to chase bats around Wayne Manor, and laugh together as she was twirled high into the air, while her parents held her high, kissed her scraped knees, and wiped off her muddied face.

Joker grinned down at the pair of deep cobalt eyes that suddenly fluttered open to meet his own jade ones. They sent sweeping jolts of electricity to his core, and he marveled at how the girl's eyes could have such a similar effect on him as Bruce's did.

"There's my girl," he murmured softly, earning a sleepy smile from her. Immediately, she broke into a wide yawn, though she tried to contain it, knowing it would send her to her own bedroom.

Bruce, alerted to her awakening, leaned over to playfully whisper in her ear, "Shouldn't someone be in their bed by now?"

She gave a half-groan of protest, obviously not wanting to move. "I'm not tired…" she mumbled out, nearly falling asleep again.

Bruce chuckled at the fib. "Of course you're not. Since you're such a big girl who can stay up past little girls' bedtimes, why don't you walk yourself to your room?" The ploy was not missed by Joker, who met Bruce's knowing grin in equal measure.

"But I –" she started before yawning again, unable to argue and fight off her drowsiness any longer. After a moment of nearly drifting asleep again, she managed, "…can't I just…stay here…with you?"

Bruce looked back up to Joker with raised eyebrows, wordlessly asking if he had planned anything more intimate for the night. Joker shrugged. "Let her," he answered. Sometimes his mind found ways of even justifying postponing romance with Bruce for his daughter. And that was something he thought would never be negotiated. _Kids_ _change things,_ he mused.

"Alright," Bruce said to her, shaking him from his thoughts. "You can stay here." He brought his hand over to her face, turning her to look up at him. "Say goodnight first?"

She sighed sweetly. "Goodnight, Daddy. I love you." It was a much rehearsed speech, and she performed it as well as a sleepy four-year-old could manage. But, as always with four-year-olds, the sentiment was laced with a deep-rooted truthfulness. And Bruce knew it.

"I love you too, angel," he whispered back, kissing her on the nose. It was a gesture he had performed for the man with that very same nose many times before, and the parallel drew a buzz of warmth that swelled in Joker's chest.

Bruce gazed down at his girl for a while, before flicking his eyes to the quiet clown, and added to her, "And how about Joker?"

She stirred from Bruce's arms and shifted to the arms of the Joker, meeting his embrace with a warm cuddle. "Goodnight, Daddy," she spoke into his shirt. "I love you."

He smirked at how exhausted she was, and how much effort she seemed to have to muster up just to speak the age-old endearments. Never in a million years would he have envisioned himself in this position, if asked about it when his campaign for chaos began. Yet here he was, echoing the fabled paternal words into her ear as he murmured, "I love you too, sugar," then pressed a kiss to her sweet, angelic head. And of course, according to the private joke he had recently engaged her with a few weeks ago involving pebbles in a river, added in, "Always and always," provoking a hidden smile from the girl.

Bruce looked on, his eyes blazing with the overwhelming joy he felt when he watched Joker lavish affection on their daughter. It seemed she brought out the worst in them at some times, and the best in them at times like this. He slunk over to meet the two of them, and the three fell naturally into place with each others' limbs as only parents and their children can. About to enter the realms of peaceful and hard-earned sleep, her voice suddenly roused them all.

"What about you two?"

The two adults snapped their eyes open, unsure of what she meant at first. They then met each others' eyes as the wise little girl between them asked them again.

"Don't you love each other?"

They were quite taken aback by her unintentionally probing inquiry, but after a few seconds Bruce answered it nonetheless.

"Of course we do."

Joker slanted a smile sideways, twisting the scars grotesquely, and the pair laid their heads back down, gazing at their sleeping creation in half-dazed wonderment. At least, they thought she was asleep, until she mumbled out her last question.

"…always and always?"

Joker froze, and raised himself up on his elbow to meet Bruce's startled expression with his own. For a four-year-old, she certainly could ask the most unexpected of questions, whether she knew and understood their full implications or not. Silently, they searched each others' countenances with their eyes, looking for the answer.

From the deep breathing she exhibited, she had fallen asleep completely now. Whether they chose to answer her or not was of no consequence to her. But one day, they would have to answer. And the answer would decide the course of their fates from that day onward.

Slowly, though, they found a mutual grin had spread onto their faces, and they leaned up over their daughter's sleeping body to meet each other in a gentle, full kiss. A kiss the likes of which they hadn't shared in a long while, if ever. But now it was there, and now it answered their question.

_Always and always._

**As I said, major fluff, not to mention this was typed up at 5 this morning after working at it all night. I've always wondered...you know those copy-paste profile lists that give the ten reasons why gay marriage "should"(n't) be outlawed? And it talks about gay couples raising kids, and I guess that got me thinking, why can't Bruce and Joker have a kid? Y'know, after about 15 years down the road in their relationship, where they actually love each other and accept that and stuff...I mean, that's what they've subconsciously been fighting for this whole time, am I right? To have their beings completely merged together, because they represent a whole that broke in half and wants to be one again. So in comics and movies they release that through kicking each others' asses, in most slash fics they do that by shoving up into each others' asses, and here...they finally get it right. And I just wanted a feel-good fic about these two. Who wouldn't? :D **

**I guess this kinda follows the storyline of "Tense", where they were together for about ten years. Then this is five years after that, when they have the four year old unnamed daughter. I decided to keep her anonymous because no matter what I name her it's gonna sound unoriginal and fake and Mary-Sue-ish and it wouldn't sound like a name they could both agree on. Not to mention they would probably have to use different nicknames around society when she's Bruce's ward, and when she's with the lowlifes as Joker/Harley's kid. And then there's her real name when she's just with her dads. :D I wonder what Father's Day would be like for them...xD**

**Reviews make me happy. Always and always. ^.^**

**And is it just me, or is the formatting in Document Manager really messed up? I can't get my title to align with center, and the line breaks aren't showing up after I save...grrr**


	2. Three More Months

Always and Always

Chapter 2: Three More Months

**A/N: I told you I was to continue this. Summer's on its way for me, just one more day of two more finals, then by 11:35 tomorrow I'm out of jail, and free to write! Then I will FINALLY catch up on all the fics I've got underway and in my head, not to mention all the stories I need to R/R. Until tommorow then. Toodles! :D**

**Just to clarify, this takes place before their daughter's birth, six months into Harley's pregnancy (hence the title, "Three More Months").**

Home was not a happy place. That much the Joker had grown accustomed to over the years. He was much more at ease when he was out in his city, out and about, _doing_ something; when his physical limitations forced even the likes of him to need that prison spell called _sleep_ or _rest_…he hated it. Nothing to do, nothing to be gained, precious time lost that could have been put to some far more productive use. Not catching up, but pressing on, moving ever forward, _that_ was what he wanted. Not this dull, caging shitfest of waiting for his consciousness to shut down and recharge his body and mind. Someday, he would find a way to counteract sleep, and shirk it off entirely for months, years even. Imagine all he would be able to do if he no longer required the frequent mental breaks! Ah yes, that would be a wonderful day, indeed.

But even genocidal terrorists on the verge of social revolution had to rest at some point, and thus the Joker shuffled into his raw hole of a warehouse to huddle up in for the night.

His body was exhausted, but his mind was still going (1). Still churning out how to topple the police force, maybe throw a few of his leftover grenades into that junior high around the corner, maybe crash that Axis plant down the road and threaten chemical warfare unless the citizens chose which location was to be bombed next…oh, the endless possibilities. The universe naturally tends towards disorder (2), for out of the infinite outcomes available to a system, a far greater number defied the system's laws and rules.

He walked carefully, slowly, as if each step took twenty-six Monster cans' worth of energy to complete. Today hadn't been quite that satisfying. Once again, his plans had been thwarted by the Batman, who had arrived just in the nick of time to stop him from ripping the mayor's wife to shreds with two opposing chains. Had Batsy just been willing to negotiate, just talk things through, maybe he wouldn't have thrown the fork through her eyeball; but oh _noooo_, he still preferred to do things the hard way, and had to play the hero beating up the villain until the cops arrived. Squinting blood out of his eyes, he was once again a lucky clown to have escaped.

Then again, only one as lucky as him got to sleep with Bruce. And he knew that was why he was now staring round about the inside of the warehouse, rather than the inside of his cell in Arkham. While they had their, ahem, _disagreements_ every now and then, eleven years was certainly a length of time that his love was not quick to brush aside.

Besides, Bruce knew he had more important affairs to look after at home.

He collapsed down on his back, the springing cot creaking underneath the sudden addition of another occupant. He sighed; sleep wasn't going to come easy tonight, of that much he was sure. It could have something to do with how tonight had turned out, which hadn't been completely fulfilling to begin with. It might have a tad bit to do with how he hadn't spent the night with – had barely even _seen_ – Bruce in the past six months. Maybe even it was something about the fact that his newest knife hadn't seen much action in a while. Attaching onto the notion, he fished in his jacket pocket and withdrew the blade in his gloved palm, angling it up to the starlight as lazy patterns reflected off its silvery face. He stared absently at it for a while, letting his generally edgy mood settle around his brain.

But playing hide-and-seek with sleep tonight, he knew, most likely had something to do with Harley's stupid swollen belly.

He turned his head to the left, where his sleeping concubine lay completely passed out, on her back as well for comfort's sake. Her hands were folded over her gravid abdomen, as if almost protecting the child that lay developing inside her. As if it belonged to her. Almost out of instinct – it was becoming a habit, really – he reached out and swiped her hands away from her stomach, knocking them to her sides as she slept on.

This baby wasn't hers.

It was _his_.

Normally a man would look upon his expecting partner and lavish affection upon her just as much he would the child inside. Not he. She held no charm for him. Only the third individual was worthy of any attention from its father. Thus he rolled over on his side and replaced Harley's hands with his, running softly over the dark red fabric of the maternity top, as if trying to psychically communicate with the underwater fetus. He never could, though. It seemed worlds away from the stitched leather that covered his hand. The cloth, flesh, and tissue that separated their beings were nothing but cruel and punishing barriers, cursing him with the promise of three more months of this budding supernova. Three. More. Fucking. Mon-

A shadow swelled out of its nonliving dark counterparts as the Batman silently tread into the room.

Joker's eyes darted towards the familiar sight of his arch-lover, his eyebrows rising in a question at the knight's unexpected presence in the pigsty of a living quarters. His hand never moved from Harley's navel, a fact that the newcomer duly noted. In fact, he seemed to slow his footsteps as if in a trance, never taking his eyes off the purple hand overlapping the red-blanketed object of his fascination.

"Come to arrest an expecting couple?" Joker drawled out in a low voice, lest he alert Harley to their enemy's presence. "Not very gallant of you."

By that point, Batman had made it to the bed, and now perched on the edge on the opposite side of Harley. He sat for a moment in silence, as if sanctifying the sight in front of him before he answered.

"That would involve arresting myself too, now wouldn't it?" he quietly pointed out.

Joker's eyes sparkled as his mouth curled up at the question. A ghost of a grin trailed on Batman's lips too, but almost instantly hid behind the awe-struck look that returned to his face, his gaze never having left the distended belly. Timidly – half out of caution for keeping Harley asleep, half out of almost fear of breaking the enchantment that surrounded the miraculous occurrence – he slid his own gloved hand over the pregnant womb, laying his touch over his future child for the first time. Why he had not covertly visited sooner still baffled him; every time he entertained the idea there was always something that had come up, some new crime wave or otherwise dastardly plot by his assortment of foes that he had to take down. For six months it had worn on him, barraging his already-apprehensive mind with all sorts of outlandish fears and worries of how he and Joker's plan was proceeding.

But now, the theoretical seemed to transform into a solid reality, as he felt a very firm kick echo from the depths of Harley's built-in biological spa.

Joker felt it as well, and slid his hand over the black glove in tender reassurance. "It's glad to meet you," he whispered.

Batman felt an upsurge of emotion grip his heart as he felt their baby move and squirm around beneath the red top, adjusting positions inside its cramped living quarters. It was alive in there, heart beating and limbs shuffling on its own. To think it had once started out life as an idea in two crazy men's heads, as a joke on an innocuous night, that had now snowballed into this unseen – but very much alive – person that lived of its own accord.

He felt Joker sit up, watching him curiously, and he turned his burning blue eyes to meet the clown's vibrant green. Simultaneously, they knew they both wondered the exact same question:

_What color will its eyes be?_

They quietly took each other into their arms by some raw nerve, unbridled paternal joys and qualms distilled into a single flowing lip lock. They knew they had no idea what they were getting into, and that neither one had any idea how to be a proper father – or improper father, or any kind of father at all for that matter. They knew that things would never be the same in three months, when the kid finally moved out of its vacation resort and into its permanent residence of the wide world. But somehow Bruce Wayne and the Joker knew that, like the rest of their journey together, it was too late to stop and go back to how things once were. They had gone through this as lovers, as rivals, as sexually frustrated partners, but once again their emotions and instincts would guide them through it, and the rest was left to fate.

"Three more months, Puddin', can you believe that?" came a sleepy murmur between them. Batman broke off the kiss and snapped his head to the slowly awakening Harley Quinn, who was feeling next to her on the pillow for her lover's face. The knight stealthily withdrew from the bed back into the shadows, melting into the night as only he could.

Finally honing her groggy eyes into focus, Harley smiled up sickeningly sweet at Joker, then hoisted herself up on her elbows to wrap her arms around his shoulders, planting kisses into his neck.

"Three more months till we have our baby!" she purred into his ear, worship dripping off her tongue like honey.

Joker brought his arm around her body – not out of returned affection, but to hide her view from the object of his affection that still stood at the edge of the warehouse just yards away. As the men met each other's eyes across the room, their minds whispered across the distance to each other as if standing inches apart.

_Three more months._

The crusader vanished into the darkness, leaving the jesters alone for the night, and leaving his child to await its entrance into the world just twelve scant, endless weeks away.

* * *

(1) To quote a certain actor by the name of Heath Ledger about not sleeping much due to throwing himself into his role. Have I ever told you how much I love and admire him? God rest your soul, baby, you deserve it after your great work on this Earth.

(2) Second Law of Thermodynamics. I think that was my favorite day of Chemistry this year: the day we learned about entropy, because of its parallels to this fandom.


	3. First Sight

Always and Always

Chapter 3: First Sight

**A/N: Apologies, but these are gonna be really out of order at first, I'm just writing these little scenes and snippets as they pique my interest. I may shuffle the order around a little more when I have enough written to make it fairly chronological, we'll see. And don't worry, this isn't some random plotless experiment (well at first it was, but now I have a plot in the works). But for now it's random little peeks into the life of B/J Juniorette. If anyone has name suggestions, feel free to let me know, I'm playing around with a few in my head, but I'm not sticking to anything yet, please tell me whatcha think. :)**

The first night she ever saw the Batman was one of the worst nights of her life.

She was three, just starting to grasp the concept of a two-way conversation – which meant she could go on for hours and hours about absolutely nothing and no one but her parents could decipher the gist of it – and lolling around on two legs all throughout the house. It was nearly midnight, which of course was well past her eight-thirty bedtime, but she had woken up in the middle of the night for a glass of water. Always the ambitious child, she had decided upon the bold undertaking of getting the drink herself.

Quietly – it seemed that stealth was an innately learned behavior from her fathers – she snuck into the kitchen and eyed the cupboard door with square-jawed determination. The height somewhat frightened her, but her thirst and stubbornness won out, and she precariously hefted herself up onto the kitchen countertop. Shakily rising to her feet, she teetered on the edge until she balanced herself by grabbing hold of the cupboard door. She was sure her heartbeat after that little escapade would wake Alfred and Daddy up, but all remained silent throughout the manor. Smiling at her inward victory, she opened the cupboard and reached for one of her sippy cups…until she saw a wine glass in the adjacent cupboard.

She grinned.

The glass was slippery, especially when she tried to fill it from the kitchen sink; the water overflowed down her tiny fingers while she wrapped her entire palms around the cup, trying as hard as she could not to drop it. After a while, she managed to turn the water off, and was faced with the dilemma of how to get herself – and the glass – back down to the safety of the floor.

She carefully got on her stomach on the counter and gradually lowered the brimming glass down to the white, spotless tile floor. It hovered an inch off the ground when her arms were stretched out as far as they could go without sending her headfirst into the glass. She let it go, and miraculously the wine glass did not break as it sat upon the tiles, patiently awaiting its mistress's descent.

She clambered down the cabinet handles and refrigerator door, sending some of her magnets near the bottom sliding a few inches. Regardless, she carried her stolen prize triumphantly out of the kitchen, down the hall in the direction of her room. She giggled to herself – a sound bordering almost on a cackle horribly familiar to many a Gothamite – as she traipsed down the stairs, having snuck away scot-free.

She looked up, and the sight before her caused the wine glass to shatter to the floor, water running everywhere at her feet. She tried to scream, but was too panicked to make any sound.

A black demon had come to punish her for her nighttime romp. It was a living shadow, rising up from the dark depths of her closet and underneath her bed, from her deepest and most primal of all fears. Some huge winged, horned monster was coming towards her, and she couldn't run or hide from it.

For it carried the bleeding body of her father, the Joker, in its arms.

The monster had hurt her daddy, and now with no one to protect her it had come for her. She had to hide and make the monster go away. She would run to Daddy's room, to Bruce's room, and he would hug her and fight the bad monster away, and tell her it would all be alright. He would save Joker, and they would all be together again, and it would all be okay.

The monster then laid eyes on her, and stopped. She stared up at it, terrified. It towered over her, and it was going to bite her, or tear her apart with its claws, or punch and kick her until she couldn't breathe anymore, or make her cry by ripping out her teeth, or-

"Get towels, sweetie."

…or…talk to her?

The monster sounded just like her daddy. And upon closer inspection, she realized that the monster wasn't a monster at all. It was just Bruce, in a costume. But carrying the Joker nonetheless. Who certainly wasn't conscious or able to tell her a joke to make it all better this time, like her bee sting last Friday.

Bruce moved past her, asking again. "Did you hear what I said?"

Suddenly she registered what he had just asked of her. He wasn't mad at her for breaking the wine glass, or for being up at midnight. He had asked her to help him.

But as he marched past her towards his room, she saw a glimpse of Joker's leg, badly broken, with bone sticking out of his shin.

She felt the hallway begin to collapse around her tunnel of vision, hot tears welling up in her eyes with nowhere to go but out. A lump rose in her throat to the point where she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't call out for help, could only sink to her knees amidst the broken shards of glass and sob. She knelt there for what seemed like an eternity, alone. She was alone, Bruce had taken Daddy and wasn't coming back, Joker was bleeding, his bones were poking out of his body, her tears and sobs were escalating to wails as she felt the undeniable panic set in around her tender age of three years, no one was there anymore, they were gone, gonegoneGONE-

"Honey, get up."

She felt the large, warm palms of her father lift her up underneath her armpits, hefting her to her feet. Bruce had taken off his gloves and mask, and now met his daughter's tear-streaked face with his own.

"I know it's scary, and I know you're afraid, but I need your help, okay?"

She made to hug him and bury her face in his chest as she always did, but he held her back at arm's length, his blue eyes sending jolts of fire into hers in his need for her to listen to him.

"Sweetie, look at me. Take a deep breath."

She shuddered and obeyed, her terrified eyes never leaving his determined gaze. She slowly caught her breath again, drawing strength from his eyes and his hold on her.

"Now, what did I ask you to do?"

She looked away, not wanting to deal with this. She would wake up from this nightmare soon, it would all be over, and both Bruce and Joker would be back at home from wherever they went at night, safe and sound-

Bruce tilted her chin back at him, his face more strained now. He looked almost…desperate.

"…get…towels…" she choked out at last.

Bruce took a deep breath. "Hurry," he whispered, then stood up and made for his bedroom.

She ran to her bathroom, trying not to think about what was about to happen once she delivered the towel, only trying to focus on what Bruce had told her to do. She grabbed her favorite pink Sleeping Beauty towel from the rack next to her bathtub. Somehow it made her feel better if Joker was just asleep for a while, rather than in mortal peril. Besides, if Daddy was going to get better, he would have to have the Three Good Fairies watching over him.

When she opened the door to her parents' room, she didn't want to take a step closer. Joker lay, still unconscious, sprawled out on his back on the bed, his torso bared to the many gashes and bruises that littered his flesh. A particularly nasty cut ran along his right side, making her clutch her towel closer to her body, wanting Princess Aurora's presence to protect her from this awful sight. Bruce sat next to him, threading a needle. He looked up and saw her, and beckoned her in. She obeyed, closing the door behind her, and stepped trembling towards the bed.

Bruce took the towel from her, before realizing what adorned it. "But this is your favorite towel, princess."

"I want Daddy to have it now…" she said quietly. Bruce smiled at her, then set to work on dabbing the blood from the gash in Joker's side. She watched his gentle actions, horrified at the scarlet stains that seeped into Mistress Merryweather's belligerent face. When the towel was pulled away, the wound didn't look nearly as bad, but still was quite a terrible sight for the three-year-old girl to behold. She looked away again with tears threatening to return.

"Hand me the needle," Bruce said quietly, knowing that the only way to keep his daughter calm enough to help them both was to give her something to do. She was just like her parents in that respect: helpless boredom was her worst enemy.

She passed the threaded needle to him, and sat quietly dabbing up the fresh blood flow as Bruce deftly began to stitch up the Joker's wound. He still lay unconscious through the process, but Bruce saw him wince several times out the corner of his eye. He was just glad that his daughter had something to look at besides Joker's face, for in times like this it even disturbed _him_…

"Hold this," he quietly instructed when he reached the end of the gash. She placed her finger down to help him tie off the thread, then cut the excess off while he held it. When the stitches held together after he wiped off the last traces of blood around his handiwork, he breathed a sigh of relief that the worst of the damage was under control. Broken bones, bruises, cracked ribs, all that Joker could handle and get over, and Bruce could help heal those on his own. But when that machete had landed out of nowhere tonight when Poison Ivy had dropped in on the fight between the Bat and Clown, he hadn't been sure if Joker could take that much blood loss. Fortunately, it seemed he would now make it through as he always did.

"Thank you, princess," he said to her, "you can go to bed now." Now that his mind was a little more at ease, he idly wondered exactly what she had been doing out of bed at midnight with a wine glass full of water…there was no telling with that child.

However, he suddenly noticed that she wasn't paying attention to him, but rather to the three spikes on his gauntlets that now rested next to Joker's chest. Three spikes that now lined up perfectly with three very similarly-shaped cuts on her daddy's body.

"Was that an accident?" she asked timidly. She hadn't even bothered to ask if Bruce was behind the marks, for it was the obvious conclusion to come to for a girl of her age. But surely it had to be an accident.

He couldn't lie to her. He could conceal things from her, just as he had concealed Batman for three years, but after she had helped him so much he felt she had the right to know the truth. She was bound to figure things out anyway, at least this way he could try to explain things in a way that made sense. "No."

She stared at the set of three wounds, eyes widening at her father's answer. If he had made those on him, who was to say that he didn't do more of it on purpose? And what stumped her the most, "Why did you hurt Daddy?"

Bruce sighed. How could he answer that? Sometimes even he was stymied by why he continued to beat the clown night after night. How could he tell his daughter that he served justice, and her father the Joker was on the other side of justice and killed people for his own enjoyment? How could he even begin to explain that it felt good and relieved so much tension whenever their bodies connected in violence? How could he even touch on subjects such as foreplay, and how they had been fighting tonight so that they could make as much noise as they wanted later on in the streets, so that she wouldn't wake up to hear their ragged breathing and lusty moans with the occasional breaking of furniture?

"Because…" he faltered, all sorts of responses running through his head, none of them a suitable explanation that would satisfy his curious daughter. But to leave her with no answer would make her wonder all sorts of horrible imaginings, of a black demon terrorizing her joking father at night with brutal knives and chainsaws…

"Do you…hate Daddy?" she asked meekly, completely unaware that she couldn't have hit closer to the truth.

After a minute of the most uncomfortable silence either one had ever sat through, Bruce finally broke through his mental debate. "Yes," he answered.

Both stared down at the body of their scarred family member, swirling with questions that they were afraid to ask the other, afraid of knowing the truth. Finally she squeaked out, "…then why did you…make him all better?"

That Bruce had asked himself for all fourteen years of having known the clown, especially after he became far more intimately linked with him. Even after all that the Joker did to his city, he still brought him back to his manor, to his bed, to stitch his wounds even before he tended to his own. And it wasn't just to do anymore with the fact that he enjoyed touching him. The answer was one that he had found much more difficult to accept than she would.

"Because I love him," he replied.

She looked up at him, completely and thoroughly perplexed. "But how-"

"You'll understand one day," Bruce cut her off. "Now go back to your room."

He still did not meet her eyes. Confused and shaken, she slid off the bed and left the room, too bewildered to come up with an argument.

Bruce looked down at the Joker, whose side was still wrapped up in the Sleeping Beauty towel. The wound was staunched with stitches and Disney magic, for now. And with something else, something that Bruce, as he wound his fingers gently through Joker's hair, knew he would never completely understand.

xxx

She lay awake in her bed, thinking over what she had just seen. Her father had never told her she had to go to _sleep_, just back to her _room_. Not that she could go to sleep if she tried; as tired and thirsty as she still was, her young mind was trying to deal with having its childhood values shaken up and jumbled on the floor like dice in a Yahtzee game.

He hated him, but loved him?

Daddies could hate each other?

He knows how to sew up boo-boos so well…just like a daddy should…

He had hurt him. It wasn't an accident.

It was then that she first realized the rift between her parents; the bridge that could never be crossed, save for inside her own skin.


	4. An Explosive Birth

Always and Always

Chapter 4: An Explosive Birth

Harley hated waiting for him more than anything else.

The whacks and bruises she could stand, could even embrace – he was only trying to imprint his love upon her, and if the mark of permanence he had left upon her soul just happened to manifest itself upon her flesh, so be it. She longed to belong to him, to be _his_, his possession, the greatest jewel in his crown. The marks showed that. No matter how much that high-and-mighty caped rodent pretended he was number one on Puddin's mind, _she_ knew how things really were. In his own signature way, he gave her the gift of love, and while Batman may share rooftop fights with him, she shared a _bed_ with J. Now Mr. Pointy-Ears couldn't top _that_, now could he?

She didn't mind the work, either; it was all to please him, to garner his attention when it was usually directed towards his grand purpose in the world. Whenever he saw his schemes of chaos about to come to fruition, she would be the one to give the final push, and he would know it. He couldn't do the job without her; that was a secret they shared together in their quiet moments alone, few and far between though they were. He knew he needed her to complete his soul, just as he completed hers. That was perhaps why he had not asked her to accompany him into the night in the past nine months, while her belly steadily grew. Yes, that was it. In her vulnerable state of caring for two, he knew he had to _protect_ his soul mate from harm; thus he kept her at home, and at an increasing frequency as the weeks wore on. For where would he be without his Harley, his one true love?

She smiled at the thought, stroking her tummy as she did so. Ah Mr. J, so thoughtful, so devoted to her and their love. He never said it in so many words, but she knew he loved her. She could feel him laying hands on her belly at night; why just three months ago, she had heard him whisper "…glad to meet you" when their child had started kicking inside her. Those warm hands of his on her…there was nothing else like it. She was his.

But it was times like this that she became the most agitated. She sat in quiet distress, lightly fidgeting with her top, twirling a finger through her loose strands of blonde hair, drumming her nails on the arm of her chair just to make some noise in the eerie stillness of their warehouse home. Because it was all she could do. In her impregnated state she couldn't help him, couldn't know if the father of her child and keeper of her heart was still alive or not.

Her eyes drifted about the room, to the crib and assorted toys that lay scattered around the northern corner. All gifts from her baby shower that Ivy had been kind enough to throw for her. Selina, Roxy, even Talia had shown up. It made her grin at the thought. Her loving friends, her loving Joker…she was certainly a lucky mother-to-be.

That is, if her unborn child would stop kicking her.

The little devil was _hopeless!_ It would never leave her alone, not for one minute. It seemed to just add to her worries when it started squirming like this. It had been close to nine months after all; true, she wasn't due for five more days, but these things had a tendency to rush themselves…

"Stop it," she commanded of her fetus, slapping her belly as if it would do anything effective. The baby kicked harder in response.

"Stop what?"

She looked up at the familiar voice as Selina came around the corner into the room, bearing a plate of her requested daily craving. Harley sighed in exasperation through her nose, making the blonde lock that had fallen in front of her eyes flutter upwards before returning to its original position.

"This baby has to leave me alone," she growled, eyeing her stomach accusingly. "You'd think it would have something better to do than treat me like a soccer ball all day."

Selina chuckled, plopping the plate of Oreos and peanut butter into her friend's lap. "Maybe it's just craving peanuts and sugar, like you."

Harley dunked a cookie in the peanut butter before stuffing it into her mouth, as if eating angrily would teach the baby a lesson about abusing its vessel. Selina watched her with a slightly disgusted grimace as she watched the harlequin – not even pausing – take another three Oreos and shove them past her crumb-speckled teeth. Upon witnessing the gruesome devouring of cookies, the leather-clad burglar wisely withdrew her hand from the plate where she had been about to take one herself. With a ravenous pregnant woman on a rampage, maybe it was best to just stick to her glass of milk.

"Ang-ou, ough, ohr iggi ee a oogeez," Harley mumbled around her mouthful.

"…um, what was that?" Selina asked, forcing a baby barf back down her throat with another swig of milk. Sure, she hadn't been a pretty sight herself when she had been carrying Helena, but surely she hadn't been _this_ sordid.

Harley swallowed in a big gulp, feeling the peanut butter stick down her throat. "I said: thank you, though, for giving me the coo-"

_Oh shit._

She broke off, unable to continue.

Selina sighed with a satisfied _ah_ after finishing her glass of milk. Setting it back down on the nightstand near the bed, she turned back to Harley. "You're welcome," she said, albeit a little confused at why her friend had stopped speaking so abruptly.

But when she met Harley's bulging eyes, she suddenly knew why.

"Oh, shit," she murmured.

Harley's cookie plate fell off her lap to the floor as she clutched her stomach desperately. All at once, the first of the contractions took over, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she screamed sharply. She made to get up, but fell forward under the intense pain; Selina rushed across the room and caught her just in time.

"Hush, it's ok," Selina whispered, trying to keep her voice under control. "I'll…I'll call Ivy, that's what I'll do. It's ok, Harley, just lie down, it's ok, it's ok-"

"IT IS NOT OK!" Harley screeched. "PUDDIN'S SUPPOSED TO BE HE-AGGHH!" she cried out as another contraction overtook her.

But trying to get in touch with Joker was the last thing on Selina's mind. She had been secretly praying that he wouldn't be around when Harley went into labor, for he would just make matters worse. And she knew that Pamela felt the same way, if not more so.

"Lie down," she commanded again, and this time Harley obeyed, collapsing on her back with another wild scream. "Ivy will get here soon."

xxx

The citizens screamed, running like feral dogs all around the bridge. _"Where is it?"_ came the universal sporadic cry, as men pushed children out of sedans, car seats and all; women gave raucous shrieks as their families were lost in the mayhem; joyriding teenagers took the opportunity to nervously light up, only to have passersby yank their lighters away out of fear that it would cause the missing bomb to explode.

Joker grinned as he watched from a building opposite the bridge. Ah, the populace of Gotham. So malleable, so easily nudged from their sophisticated façades. All he had had to do was block the bridge's ends with a few car pileups, then announce that ten cars that were trapped on the bridge were his agents, rigged to blow at any second unless the ensnared civilians could find them in time and hurl them over the bridge. Terrified that the messengers were amongst them, everyone had jumped out of their cars and had proceeded to interrogate others, knock their fellow captives to the ground without even bothering to question them, or had even taken to shoving cars off the bridge at random. A few had even been paranoid enough to wonder if they were in fact the unwitting instrument of the painted fiend, and had proceeded to drive their own cars off the bridge, just in case they were an unsuspecting threat to the rest of their fellow citizens.

But martyrs, murderers, victims, prosecutors…they were all the same in his eyes. Devolved to the same ant-like swarm below him, they all possessed the same unbridled corruption and lack of morality. Now, hopefully, the city would see that even their own kin could turn against them in the most desperate of moments. He had turned an innocent night driving home into a full-blown game of Mafia.

He fucking loved it.

"Where are the bombs, Joker?"

He rolled his eyes at the familiar deep, grating voice, yet couldn't help grinning wider. How perfect, his Bat had dropped in on the fun, too! Could tonight get any better?

"Now, now," he chided, not bothering to turn around and tear his eyes from the beautifully gruesome sight before him. "That would spoil the surprise, wouldn't it?"

Batman still refused to approach him; a wise choice, for he knew that if he stepped too close to the clown his hungering hormones would probably win the day. "How do they know if there's anything to look for? There might not be any bombs at all. Or what if you've just rigged the bridge to blow, so they'll all die anyway regardless of their efforts?"

Joker cackled, a sound that Batman knew meant that something was up. And usually, it was something he wouldn't like to hear.

"So what if I have?" the madman laughed, still cackling. "Does it really matter what I have or haven't done?" He shook his head. "That's not the point."

In an overly theatrical gesture, he spread his hand out to the uproar of pandemonium below them. Babies cried in the distance, men's voices roared as suddenly another victim was accused and ganged up on, and girls screamed for their fathers, lost in the river depths beneath the bridge. A sudden round of gunfire erupted into the night as desperate Gothamites took out their weapons in a last-ditch effort to keep themselves safe.

"_This_ here before us…" Joker murmured gleefully, "_this_ is the point."

There was a few seconds' silence as he listened to the dark knight consider his words. The sweetness of moments like this, where he knew he had already won before Batman could do anything about it…no other taste compared. Well, maybe a few, but he probably wouldn't be getting a sample of _that_ for a while now.

"Well, here's _my_ point," came a growl behind him. He braced himself, knowing what was to come next.

The fist connected with the side of his skull, and nearly toppled him off the building, but he caught himself just in time to dodge another punch aimed at his head. Smiling in anticipation, he launched himself at a livid Batman, who proceeded to gain the upper hand on the smaller man and pummel him senseless, but not without sustaining a few bruises and flesh wounds of his own. Finally, he managed to pin the clown down and pulled out a pair of handcuffs when…a cell phone chimed in Joker's coat pocket.

Joker's eyes widened and he twisted out of Batman's reach to grab the phone. Once he whipped it out, Batman restrained him again, trying to wrest the phone out of his grasp lest it set off the potential bombs on the bridge. However, when Joker finally got to click on the text message that had popped up, they immediately stopped their struggle.

**Harley:**

**Its here**

**10/28 3:07:35 AM**

Their eyes stared blankly at the message as they read it over and over; trying to deny that the fateful moment had come at last to render the eternal judgment on their souls as to whether or not last year's crazy idea had been a good one. And only one thought registered on Batman's mind:

"Oh, shit."

He realized that Joker had just echoed his mental sentiments, and had jumped up from underneath him, vanishing into the night in the direction of the text's sender. It quite baffled Batman as to why Joker would keep a phone on him for the sole purpose of getting the news hot off the press of when Harley began giving birth. Wouldn't that invite her to send him texts or calls every five minutes just to hear her Mr. J's voice again? The thought unnerved and aggravated him more than he cared to acknowledge; that harlot hanging on his Joker day and night…but why would the Joker then allow her to hang on him even when away, if only so that she could alert him to the child's birth as soon as possible? He would never take such precautions, unless…

…unless he had something else planned.

This time, Batman voiced his concerns out loud as he ran in the direction Joker had just taken off in.

"Oh, _shit_."

xxx

Harley gasped for air, drenched in sweat. She had never gone through _anything_ like this before. All the pain in the world that Joker had ever given her…even when put together and multiplied, it still couldn't come close to the agony of childbirth. Then again, Mr. J had given her this baby, so maybe in a way he _had_ technically given this to her, as well. The thought just made her glow brighter upon realizing that this was the most love that Puddin had bestowed upon her yet.

And now, that love was crying and wailing across the warehouse's makeshift bedroom, where Ivy was wrapping it in a blanket. Her friend's green back was to her, so she couldn't see her new creation as she so desperately wanted to, _needed_ to. She craned her neck around, only to have Selina push her back down onto the pillows.

"Be still," the clawed woman whispered in an almost soothing manner, which was quite unlike any tone of voice Harley had ever heard come out of Selina's mouth. "You did great, honey. Just rest now."

And for the moment, her fatigue from the exertion talked her into obeying, and she closed her eyes as her head hit the pillow once more. Finally, she could _rest_, after the last two hours of Pam and Selina telling her she _couldn't_ rest, and had to keep going for both her and her child's sake. It had been torture. Granted, the labor hadn't been as lengthy as other women's that she had heard about; Selina herself had been in the emergency room for three days straight getting Helena out. But it seemed this particular baby had been quite anxious to escape into the real world, and had fought its way out kicking and screaming in its eagerness to leave Harley's body. And now it lay in Pamela's arms, giving its new lungs a test drive in the open air by wailing for all it was worth, while Ivy carefully wrapped a blanket tightly around its naked form.

In Harley's dazed state, she could just barely make out the faint voices of her two friends, as if they were worlds away and she was listening to them while underwater. She then felt Selina shake her shoulder and purr in her ear, "It's a girl."

She smiled and began to cry tears of laughter, shaking with all the emotion that suddenly spewed forth upon hearing the news. A girl. Now she wouldn't have to name it, for she had decided that if it had been a boy she would name him J.J., for Joker Junior. But now that it was a girl, it would be left to her father. It was quite a relief that she wouldn't have to risk an argument with Joker over her suggestion, for it would inevitably end up with her getting pushed out a window for the eighteenth time. No, it was a girl, and as she was horrible with girl's names, the decision would be left to Mr. J, with no argument or risk to her health whatsoever.

"Would you like to see her?" Selina asked softly, and she nodded weakly, too drained both physically and emotionally to speak.

She mustered enough energy to force up her eyelids, to meet Ivy's loving glance as she turned her head back to her best friend. The baby, however, was still out of sight, and as Ivy turned around to show her her daughter for the first time…

…an explosion shook the building apart, sending Selina and Ivy hurtling to the floor. They didn't even get a chance to scream as they dropped unconscious in the blast of flame.

Vision blacked out for Harley, but hearing and scent still hazily remained, enough to smell the smoke and ash that now pervaded the warehouse. It must have been a stray nuke left in storage that had detonated by accident. She could still hear flames licking around the bed where she lay, though even if she had possessed the strength to roll away, she wouldn't have been able to escape the accelerating blaze that surrounded her now. She heard creaking and groaning above her as the ceiling threatened to give way and crush them all flat. But above all, she became most painfully aware of, not what sounds had started, but what sounds had _stopped_. Those facts came to the forefront of her attention, and made her tremble at their implications.

Most importantly, the fact that her baby had stopped crying.

Blinded as she was by the jarring shockwave and overload of sensory input, she didn't see the purple coated figure step past the flames and reach the gracefully sprawled form of Poison Ivy. It sidestepped the woman's body and grabbed the blanketed bundle of new flesh and bones beneath her, then dashed out of the burning building. A detonator gleamed in its free hand.

The button was pushed once father and daughter were a safe distance away, then all went black for Harley Quinn.

xxx

Batman reached the warehouse just as the ambulance did. Most urgent care vehicles had been used to rescue the injured on the bridge (that thankfully had not exploded as the occupants had feared it might), so very few emergency personnel were on hand to deal with this outlier of a mess. After all, it was just an abandoned warehouse, so no casualties were expected to be dealt with.

When they arrived on the scene with the standard fire truck, ambulance, and cop car, they found it to be quite a different story.

The paramedics didn't even bat an eye when the caped crusader showed up; it only made sense that where costumed freaks lurked, others flocked to them like sheep to their shepherd. So long as he didn't interfere with their rescue mission, he was permitted to coldly observe the three women who were carried off on stretchers to the ambulance headed for Gotham General.

He first drank in the sight of Selina, the woman he had failed to love, who now took the consequences of his actions by standing by the side of her friend; the friend who wouldn't have even needed her assistance if he had just been able to push the Joker aside and stick with her and Helena. She had never been enough for him, nor he enough for her, and now his heart sank as he watched them carry her away, charred and unconscious.

As she was loaded up in the ambulance, he heard a sudden upsurge of shouts from the rescue team behind him. He swiveled around to discover what they were so agitated about: they had found Harley. Who they realized had just given birth.

And the baby was nowhere to be found.

She was hurriedly carted off in the ambulance for immediate care. It seemed Poison Ivy, who was not in as dire need of attention, would have to wait for the next ambulance to arrive.

He stepped over to where the paramedics were attempting to pry her leaf-green limbs from the blackened wreckage, helping them heft the metal beams off her body. This was, after all, his fault, for it had been his child in the warehouse. No matter what his previous record was with the toxic temptress, he couldn't let her suffer now for his own folly of trusting her to Joker's mercy.

As he lifted the last beam off her chest, he snapped his head to her face upon hearing choked words issue from her lips. Barely audible and interspersed with wheezing and coughing fits, but very much there.

"…I'll…kill him…"

His gaze focused on her half-lidded, vengeful eyes at her words. Joker had been here after all.

"He…took…" she croaked out from under stray locks of auburn hair, blackened with soot and ash. She spluttered into coughing spells once more, expelling large volumes of ash from her lungs, as the paramedics lifted her up onto a stretcher.

But Batman wasn't finished with her just yet. "He took what?" he asked urgently, dreading and praying for the answer.

"…the…baby…" she breathed, before collapsing into unconsciousness once more.

The paramedics sighed with heavy hearts at her words. They knew that the Joker, once taking something into his possession, wouldn't give it up until he felt like it. Harley Quinn's baby, therefore, was as good as dead, and searching for her was a lost cause for them.

But not for the Batman, as he vanished into the shadows of the night to begin his endless search for his missing family.

xxx

The crunching footsteps on the gravel and dirt road slowed to a dragging halt as the Joker paused to take in his surroundings. He – _they _– were still a few miles from Wayne Manor, and it was getting to be nearly half past three in the morning. He'd better hurry if he wanted to beat Bruce home.

Well…maybe Bats would linger behind at the warehouse. Or rather, what was _left_ of the warehouse. He chuckled to himself; it was probably a smoldering dung heap by now, mired in the stench of death that he surrounded himself in his every living moment. Harley had served her purpose, and for the moment he had no further use for her. She was but a passing convenience at best and an ear-splitting, headache-inducing nuisance at worst. And like him, she tended to live more on the worse side of her spectrum. She had started out as a tool to mock Batman with what he refused to allow himself to have, but now that all that rage and angst was for the most part over with, he no longer needed her for that.

As for Ivy and that Catbitch, they had both tried to interfere with him and Batman, giving Bruce some unwanted distractions from his scarred lover in the past. But he had in the end turned back to Joker, as he had always known his Bat would. It didn't hurt, though, to tie up some loose ends, in case some vengeful exes got any…_distasteful_ ideas. Selina had especially wanted Bruce back, though Ivy seemed the more bent on simply offing Joker. Both had the equal potential to haunt him later, so he had initially exploded the room he knew would not collapse at first to simply distract them all while he made off with the child; then once he had made it out with her he had dealt out the final crushing round of bombs to get rid of the villainesses once and for all. Good to know that that business was done with. Destroying the three women in the warehouse had been a plan he had been concocting for ages, and with the birth of this new arrival, it seemed to have even more importance. Almost as if ushering in a new era.

From now on, he and Bruce would have only one girl in their lives.

He looked down at the bundle in his arms, where the girl lay quietly in a restful state of peace. It seemed as if she were almost dead, but holding his finger in front of her nose, he felt the reassuring gentle puffs of air against his hand as she steadily breathed in and out. Fortunately she had fallen underneath Ivy, so the ashes hadn't had the chance to enter her fragile newborn lungs. He had concealed her in his jacket to further shield her as he made his way out of the warehouse and the smog-infested city. Now though, in the fresh clean air of the Palisades, he was sure she could breathe easy.

Then she started to cry. It was a softer, more subdued sound than before in Ivy's arms; more as if she was just becoming accustomed to being outside in a less confining space. And not liking it one bit.

Joker sighed in exasperation. He had never been in quite this situation before. It wasn't as if in villain school they offered the special class of "How to Quiet a Crying Baby." Usually, he dealt with the infants of his victims with a simple (or complicated, depending on his mood) slice to the throat, or stab through the heart, or shot to the head, or any number of methods using an assortment of weapons available to him. Strangulation or breaking bones with his bare hands was easily an option, too. But certainly not in this circumstance. He would have to opt for a more…gentle approach.

"Shut up," he murmured, proffering the finger against her nose to her mouth instead. Miraculously, she took it, sucking on her daddy's finger between her wet gums, creating an instinctive calming sensation that soon quieted her down. He grinned down at her, almost in spite of himself. She was surprisingly cute, in a pudgy, nearly-balding, drooling kind of way.

Watching her shake softly in her blanket, he drew her underneath his jacket, close against his vest. The dark, warm, constricting environment she suddenly found herself in was very much like the womb she had just left not half an hour ago, down to the last detail of feeling a lulling heartbeat against her own. The cozy space of her daddy's chest became a suitable substitute home for her, and she cuddled up to sleep as Joker continued on to Wayne Manor.

xxx

Pacing, pacing, pacing. Back and forth, treading the same path up and down his bedroom, no doubt wearing a hole in the carpet like a well-used trail on the Serengeti. It seemed as if it was all that he could do at this point. He had spent what seemed like a lifetime patrolling the streets, listening on police scanners, and then at home watching the news, keeping his network of cameras and microphones tuned in. _Anything_ to give him a sign as to where Joker had disappeared to. But no such luck. The lunatic was nowhere to be found.

He had hastily attended to his injuries sustained from the fight with Joker. Really, after the years he had spent doing this, they were little more than scuff marks. He handled wounds like clockwork now, and the automatic task of disinfecting cuts did nothing to take his mind off his worries as it had in his early days as Batman. He had no way of knowing if the kid had made it out alright, or if Joker was disposing of the body, or…

He halted to a standstill as he realized that the Joker was standing in his doorway, clutching something underneath his coat.

Bruce's heart pounded frantically as he stared into Joker's face, trying desperately to make some sense out of his lover's unreadable expression. He had never seen him look quite like this before. Almost…edgy? Could he be…_apprehensive_? No, it was something more subtle than that, but all the more powerful for it. He surely wasn't looking any better himself. Especially with what Joker was carrying, and how it wasn't. Moving. No signs of life whatsoever. Had he come here as a practical joke, to flaunt the baby's dead body in front of his face before flinging it out the window? Was this at all _funny_ to him?

"She's not dead," a quiet voice broke through his thoughts as if sensing his distress.

Not…dead…

Joker began to walk toward him. "She's just asleep," he said.

And then from underneath his jacket he withdrew the white-blanketed form of their sleeping angel for Bruce to see for the first time.

Bruce's mind was soldered shut as Joker stepped closer, closing the distance between them. Fragments of sentences and thoughts swirled through his mind, echoing their iron truths to more firmly set themselves in stone upon his consciousness. It was so overwhelming; he could barely breathe as Joker stopped three inches in front of him, the creature between their chests agonizingly close. But one thought stood out the most for him, more than the fact that the baby was alive, and had made it home safely. And that thought was the one that finally broke through his locked brain and surfaced on his tongue.

"…she?"

Joker nodded slightly, understanding Bruce's confusion. He too had been expecting it to be a boy; both its parents were male, weren't they? Then a vague whispering of X chromosomes from some long lost biology lesson fluttered through his mind, and he shrugged, glancing back up at Bruce's face. His lover's eyes had never left the girl between them. Seeing the unslakable thirst (or was it fear?) in his blue eyes, he extended his arms and proffered the child to her second father.

Bruce was spellbound. He awkwardly reached for her before settling his arms in a comfortable position to hold her; it seemed Joker had gotten the cradling practice right. For a grazing moment they both held her together, before Joker let his arms go, giving her entirely to Bruce. He held her close, staring into her pink face with such wonderment as would befit a lost emerald. Joker's twin emeralds lingered on his face as Bruce stepped almost trance-like backwards, sitting on the edge of their bed to better take in their new treasure. Joker followed him, sitting beside him and resting his chin on Bruce's shoulder, as they gazed together wordlessly at the beauty they had – miracle of all miracles – created together.

Her very presence seemed intoxicating to her two fathers, and at the edges of their minds they knew that it was because she possessed a part of the other within her being. They couldn't quite place it, but an ingredient of Bruce and an element of Joker lay dormant within her quiet countenance, just waiting to spring forth and shine its double brilliance to the world. But until then, that faint untraceable glow was content to be quietly shared by just the two of them. Her new flickering light was theirs, and theirs alone.

And apparently, so was her crying fest, as she awoke without warning and began to keen up to Bruce's face, causing them both to jump.

"What do we do?" Bruce asked, without thinking about who exactly he was asking as to the nature of babies.

"Hell if I know," Joker said, for without the previously mentioned methods of quieting newborns available to him, his imagination was coming up blank.

"Is she…hungry?" Bruce wondered.

Joker shrugged. "Probably. I know I am."

"Well," Bruce said with a determined finality; it felt good to have a course of action, "go to the Batcave and look in the fridge by where the Tumbler's parked. I've got some formula in there."

Joker raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Someone's prepared."

"One of us has to be," Bruce answered back. "Now go; she's not going to feed herself."

Joker still hadn't moved from the bed. His eyes were beginning to gleam with that sparkling madness that so irritated Bruce from day one of their war. "Why don't _you_ go get it?" the clown asked, making to take the girl back.

"Because _I'm_ already holding her," Bruce shot back, clutching her closer. Why, oh why did the Joker pick _now_ of all times to be possessive? Well, two could play at this game. "Go get it."

"You know better where it is," Joker wickedly protested; he wasn't giving up on this.

Bruce was trying as best he could to ignore the prickling of rage in his gut that always flared up whenever Joker brought out his stubborn side. "You'll find it. Do you want to feed your kid or not?"

_That_ stopped Joker in his mental tracks; he looked down at the squealing kid who was bawling its lungs out into Bruce's shirt, then rolled his eyes and left for the Batcave. Stupid Bruce had a fucking bargaining chip against him now, and he knew it. But against this kid's wellbeing he was slowly realizing he was powerless.

Once he had left, Bruce sighed in frustration at the maniac. It seemed that even in moments like this, they still couldn't stop fighting. But maybe…maybe in a weird sense, moments like this meant that they _needed_ to fight. Settling back to recline on the pillows with the child in his arms, he realized that it at certainly released some of the incredible tension in the air. Almost…giving them something familiar to hold onto for the time being. Maybe being mortal foes before becoming lovers hadn't been quite so terrible an arrangement after all.

After a moment Joker returned, and climbed onto the bed next to Bruce with a full bottle in his hand. Both were quite unsure as to how to go about feeding her, but she caught on quickly enough, sucking in the artificial milk as soon as the bottle was offered to her. She certainly was ravenous, for the level of formula in the bottle dropped at an alarming rate. But seeing as it was her first meal, it was hardly to be expected otherwise. She sucked the marrow out of life, just as her parents did.

As he held the end of the bottle to tip it towards her, Joker laid his head on Bruce's shoulder once more, brushing his lips across the other's neck in a quick, soft kiss. Bruce inclined his head to rest against Joker's in response, and they continued to feed their girl in tranquil silence. They knew that all had been forgiven.

When she had finished the formula and brushed the bottle aside, they let it fall to the bedspread, and then realized they had nothing to set their minds to anymore. She was fed, warm, safe, and quiet, so the three of them lay in peaceful stillness, the two men quietly observing the baby.

Softly breaking the silence, Bruce suddenly noticed, "She's got your nose."

Joker looked at her nose, then laughed. "She does not."

"Joker," Bruce turned to him, "I've seen that nose for the past eleven years of my life. I think I know it when I see it, and I'm telling you," he looked back at her, "that's your nose on her face."

Taking another look, he saw that there might be some resemblance, but mostly he thought that Bruce was just imagining things. Whatever it was, her nose suited her face quite well.

"And is that your hair I see?" Bruce asked playfully, thumbing through her sparse, wispy locks of blonde that covered the back of her head.

Joker smiled, joining his lover's hand in her hair. "It's not green yet," he said.

Bruce laughed. "Well, maybe one day it will be. I'll kill you, though."

Joker kissed his temple teasingly. "You would."

They laughed together at imagining a girl with naturally seaweed colored hair, then stopped suddenly when they realized that she had opened her eyes for the first time of the entire night.

They were shocked out of orbit at the stunning new development, knocked quite speechless as the alien yet familiar orbs gazed innocently up at them, reflecting their souls perfectly. Bruce recovered first, and gave her a tentative "Hey there," welcoming her into the world at long last.

But Joker remained petrified, unable to unlock his gaze from the eyes that seemed to constantly flicker between Batman, Joker, Batman, Joker, BaJotkmaern, all together in the seamless separation and union that proved impossible anywhere else on Earth, except inside the two eyes of this strangely beautiful new arrival. And her eyes were…no, they couldn't be…shit, yes they _were_…

"Bruce…" he whispered, needing to tell him what he had noticed, for wouldn't Bruce have said something if he had taken note of it as well? But his other half remained understandably silent, lost in running his thumb along her cheek.

"Bruce," he said again, and this time Bruce acknowledged him.

"What?"

He took a moment to let it sink in one last time before he uttered the unbreakable truth into the air.

"She has your eyes."

Bruce froze. He looked back at her eyes to examine them more closely, and…he was right. Those were _his _eyes, his precise shade of watery blue, like a mountain lake secluded from time. And now they had been transferred onto the face of this baby, as if to give him a daily reminder of "I belong to you."

Joker placed his hand warmly over Bruce's that lay on their daughter's side, sending waves of emotion coiling through to his love.

For so did he.

* * *

**A/N: Agggghhh, finally this stupid chapter is done, I've been working on it for DAYS and it's taken a lot out of me. One of the longest pieces I've ever written. Phew. I need to get my writing stamina up. But then again, that's one of the things this site is for, no?**

**No, Harley, Ivy, and Selina didn't die, otherwise there would be no underlying threat of Ivy wanting to kill Joker! Duh…xD**

**Oh, and apparently this whole method of two males reproducing in such a roundabout manner is not some theory of MINE, but an actual scientific theory introduced by Dr. Calum MacKellar, a Scottish bioethicist. I'm assuming that the female egg that Freeze emptied of its genetic contents was from Nora, since after all he WAS under the delusion that it was all to resurrect her. If you're interested, go ahead and look up "male egg" on wiki, it's fascinating stuff. **

**Tell me whatcha think, as always. I love my reviewers to death. :{) (hawhawhaw, ees a Fwench smilEE, hawhawhawhaw)**


	5. What It All Adds Up To

Always and Always

Chapter 5: What It All Adds Up To

Most parents would go about teaching their children numbers with money, fingers, or episodes of Sesame Street.

The Joker used a slightly different method.

"Thuwdy-thix, thuwdy-seveh…" the two-year-old girl sitting across from him counted, as she brushed her finger past the Ten and Jack of Hearts between them. She was on the third row of cards, and hadn't had any slipups yet. Both were getting a little fluttery in their stomachs ever since she had passed the Diamonds, and he was nearly holding his breath as he waited patiently to see how far she could go this time without prompting.

"Thuwdy-eight…thuwdy-nigh…" she said as she passed the King of Hearts and moved her finger to the last row. Her finger hovered over the Ace of Spades as she frowned, and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling as if the answer would whisper to her from above. As she stared intently at the seven year old bullet holes in the ceiling that formed the letters "B & J", Joker watched her frustration and debated whether or not he should help her out. She looked so focused her eyes seemed ready to emit laser beams to forge the letters "& G!" next to the original three. Yet he decided against saying anything; _she knows it, let her figure it out herself,_ he thought.

"Fohty!" she suddenly cried out, so suddenly it made Joker jump in surprise. Recovering, he grinned.

"That's right, forty!" he said, holding up the card of four nearest him. "Like the number four, remember?"

She giggled as she reached out to the card. "Foh tens makes fohty!" she proclaimed with a triumphant smile. "Wuh, too, thwee, foh!" She tapped the four black designs on the Four of Clovers as she counted; unaware that she had just touched the card of her destiny.

He replaced the card back in the thirteen-by-four grid that he had lain out between them, and moved his finger to the Ace of Spades. "Now, back to where you were. Forty…"

"Fohty…" she began as she returned her finger to the spades. "Fohty wuh…"

This time, he traced his finger with hers, silently guiding her down the tumultuous path, continuing the pattern of going through ten numbers while remembering the forty in front of them. While not saying anything – he knew that she had this one – it certainly provided her the confidence she needed, and she started to quicken her count by the time she reached the Jack of Spades. This time, she more easily remembered the next number; there was only minimal muttering of "ff…fi…fivey…" before she squealed out "Fitty!" and thus earned a thumbs-up from her dad.

"Fitty-wuh, fitty-too!" she finished, ending with a dramatic point from high in the air at the King of Spades, smacking her fingertip on the defeated king's face and sword; she was never to be bested by the smug little cards again.

"Bravo," Joker smiled quietly, her look of childish triumph only rivaled with his own of parental pride. "But…" he said, moving his hand to the inside of his purple jacket, "we forgot two."

Her victory half-melted from her face into confusion, as he pulled out the two cards that completed the deck arranged in front of them. He handed them to her, and her eyes widened in wonderment as she drank in the sight of two jesters: one in black and white and laughing till its sides hurt; the other in red and yellow, holding a Spade and Heart in each hand with a devilish grin.

"Jay?" she asked, noticing the letter in the diagonal corners of each playing card.

"Mmhm. It stands for Joker."

She looked up at his amused face, mouth agape at the hilarious insight she had just discovered. "Like you!" she exclaimed, and giggled that they had named a type of playing card after her daddy. He sure must be famous for his name to show up in everyone's card decks around the world.

"You wanna keep them?" he asked her, and she nodded vigorously and took the cards from his hand, flipping them one on top of the other to decide which one she liked better. The happy one with no color or the mischievous one in red and yellow? Finally she decided on the pretty one in color, and switched it in front with a smirk on her face that almost matched the card before her.

At that moment Bruce walked into his bedroom, to find his daughter sitting cross-legged on the floor, an evil-looking Joker card in her hand. For the slightest second he hesitated as his eyes darkened, before closing the door behind him and mentally chiding himself. _It's nothing harmful; it's just a playing card…_

Joker looked up at him and raised his eyebrows. "Did you know your daughter can count to fifty-two?"

_See? They're just counting, nothing to worry about._ "Really?" Bruce asked, walking over to tousle her hair. "Did you really count all the way to fifty-two?"

"Yehs!" she said, ready to assert her accomplishment to any and all skeptics and non-believers. Everyone in the world had better know that she was no little baby now. Only _big girls_ could count to such big, big numbers as fifty-two.

And what about her new discovery? Did Daddy know about that? "Daddy, dih yoo know dat dis card is a Joker?" She waved the cards up at him. "Like _Joker_?" She pointed at the aptly-named man, who grinned up at Bruce.

Bruce returned the eye contact, but any warmth in his eyes was edged with a fleeting darkness. "Yes," he said quietly in answer to the question. His eyes never left Joker's. "Yes, I did know that." Joker's grin microscopically widened, for he knew exactly what Bruce was being so edgy about. The light in his eyes as he smiled promised nothing.

Their daughter, quite unaware of the drastic temperature change in the mood, was lost in the first two Joker cards in her possession. As Bruce turned back to the bed to take off his shoes and socks, she looked up back to Joker and asked, "Why did dey caw dis a Joker?"

Joker returned his focus to her, yet was still aware of the slow methodical manner in which Bruce was untying his shoe laces as he listened in on the conversation, ready to interrupt at any moment. "Because the Joker is my card," he stated quietly. She watched him with a slightly puzzled expression, and he continued to explain. "You could say it's my special card. I like to…_use_ it everywhere I go. Like it's my special_ sign_. My…"

He darted his eyes momentarily up to Bruce, who was glaring daggers at his lover across the room – who was, as always, skirting dangerously close around the edges of the taboo they had somewhat mutually agreed upon two years ago. _Don't you DARE go any further,_ he warned him silently.

But, as always, the clown did.

"…trademark," he finished, his gaze lingering on Bruce just a tad too long before bringing his daughter into his arms. Bruce set his shoe down on the floor a bit more forcefully than necessary, but upon hearing no further discussion on the subject, said nothing. The damage, if any, was already done.

She sat in Joker's lap for a while saying nothing, lost in turning over her new cards in her hand while turning over her father's words in her mind. After a while, she asked, "Does Daddy haffa spesul card?"

He turned to her, running his thumb along the edge of his namesake in her hands. "No, he doesn't have any cards." Then an idea ran through his head, and he leaned in closer to her face, his voice barely audible; she leaned in close too upon the action, for she knew his tone of voice signaled the beginnings of a spectacular joke that they could share in.

"…do you think we should give him some?"

Her eyes narrowed to match the roguish light in his, sly grins identical to each other. Stealthily they gathered all the cards in their arms and crept to the other side of the bed where Bruce's back was turned.

The wild battle cries of madman and daughter were unleashed in a flurry of cards before Bruce could take his remaining sock off; they grabbed him from behind and launched him backwards onto the bed, pelting cards at him while they tackled and tickled him mercilessly. Soon the three of them were caught in uncontrollable fits of laughter; Joker's mad cackle almost perfectly in sync with his daughter's high-pitched spasms, while they lay atop a chortling Bruce who struggled for breath.

"Okay, alright, I get it," Bruce wheezed out. "I need a card." His two assailants raised their eyes to his face, still gasping for air. "You can call me King from now on," he said, picking up a King of Clubs that was very bent out of shape from their wrestling romp. "And…I order you both executed," he finished, and promptly collapsed full-out onto the bed, closing his eyes as their laughing fits receded.

"That's mighty presumptuous of you," Joker gasped out, "declaring yourself King like that." He turned his head on Bruce's rapidly-moving chest to the girl, who grinned back up at him with that same impish smirk; she knew the joke wasn't over yet. "What do you think he should be?"

She climbed up to push her face in front of Bruce's. "TOO!" she cried out, holding up two fingers and jabbing them right in front of his eyes. He chuckled and pushed her back down on top of him.

Joker rose to sit up, still draped over Bruce's stomach, and pulled her close to him again. "Now, that's a little harsh," he mockingly admitted. "Maybe…" he loudly whispered, cupping his hand next to her ear to pretend the other man couldn't hear him, "on weekends, if he's good…he can be a three."

She hooted again, screaming "Yeah! Be a thwee!" at Bruce, thus blurting the supposed secret out at him. He took hold of her head and good-naturedly shoved her away.

"Get off me," he slurred in defeat; it looks like it was two against one, and he'd have to accept his lowly position of a Two, and a Three if he was well-behaved and bought her a pony. "Go make Alfred a Jack or something."

His ploy to get her out of the room worked, as her face lit up like a light bulb at the new notion of including the butler in her game. Hurriedly she scraped up a handful of cards and catapulted off the bed, swinging the door open in her jollity. As she disappeared down the hallway, they heard her yell back, "Can he a Qween if he wants to?"

"If he wants to," Bruce called back to her as the door, having been opened with such excited force that it had continued on its path and hit the wall, thudded shut again. The wall wasn't too badly indented (1), and he might get mad at her about it later, but at the moment Bruce was focused only on the man who was still sitting on top of him. Joker shifted as if to move off, but a sudden hand on his tie pulled him back down. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"I never told _you_ to get off me," Bruce purred at him, before claiming his lips with such a ferocity that surprised Joker. He accepted it nonetheless, opening his mouth to his lover's tongue as he responded in equal passion.

After a moment, Joker broke the kiss, realizing now was not the time. "She might come back for more cards," he pointed out, though his low voice indicated that he _very_ much hoped that she would not.

But Bruce had already thought ahead, and plowed into the scarred lips once again. "Alfred'll distract her," he mumbled between rough kisses and licks, bringing his hands down lower to force friction between their hips, much to their mutual delight as they moaned into each other's mouths. "I'm learning," he continued huskily as Joker's fingers moved to his fly, "that as parents, we have to take what we can get."

Twenty minutes later, they lay side by side on the bed, cards littered beneath them as they stared up at the ceiling while attempting to catch their breath for the second time that day, only this time from a much different kind of exertion. It had been rushed, for they knew they could get interrupted at any moment from an unsuspecting very young or very old someone, so they had had to settle on removing only the minimum, forcing climax from sheer contact alone. But it had been enough to keep them satisfied until later that night in the cesspools of the city, for that was where they had been taking their forays of late where no innocent daughter of theirs could damage her fragile psyche forever.

Now, fully dressed once more and dazed from their mutual high, they found their hands entwining again, and they glanced to the side to meet each other's contented expression with their own. They raised their joined arms up on their elbows, watching their fingers interlay with such warmth and grace that seemed so out of place for two opposite moralities, yet so _in place_ for the two coexisting and interdependent forces that they were. It was a phenomenon that still somewhat baffled Bruce and riveted Joker, yet they both appreciated its pleasurable effects while they lasted.

The _living_ effect of their union then entered the room, toddling over to sit on the bed next to them. The spark of deep spiritual insight that lay rooted in both her parents must have passed down onto her, for some instinct told her not to sit between them. She instead sat beside Joker, quietly fiddling with the two cards of the same name in her hand. Bruce shifted his gaze lazily from the hand he held to her still form, absently drawing an abstract parallel between the two images. He felt Joker squeeze his hand in acknowledgement of the connection, before he realized…just how quiet she was behaving.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he asked her, his voice low and nearly rasping like Batman after his recent vocal workout. But she remained silent, still staring at the Joker cards, flipping them back and forth in her hand like a seesaw. Joker, noticing her unresponsive behavior, poked her playfully with his toe, as if prodding an answer out of her. At length, a timid voice squeaked out.

"Why ahnt yoo bohf mawied?"

Their faces froze as shock and dismay threaded through their blood, and they both turned back to each other's eyes, wordlessly grappling over who would handle this crisis. They should have seen this question coming eventually, and in retrospect perhaps they should have prepared an explanation long ago when she was still too young to speak, let alone understand such concepts as marriage. But now it was too late, and they had to scramble for an answer that would both satisfy her curiosity and not urge her to explore further into their…_unique_ relationship. Joker, it seemed, had an idea. Bruce wasn't sure if he would regret it later or not, but he let the other take charge of the situation, bracing himself for whatever wild trick the maniac had up his sleeve.

Joker sat up and scooted closer next to her, still keeping his right hand interlocked with Bruce's left. "Who says we aren't married?"

_That_ certainly was not what Bruce had been expecting to hear, and he made to get up himself and interject, but Joker squeezed his hand again, reassuring him that he was going somewhere with this. Bruce sat back again, still uneasy about this complete lie that was being fed to his daughter. _How_ could he let her believe that they were really married when they weren't? She at least had the right to know that much!

She looked up at Joker in confusion, then drifted her eyes down to his hand that held Bruce's. "Yoo no weaw wings," she pointed out.

Joker looked down at his left, very ringless hand. "That's true," he murmured. Bruce felt his stomach clench with dread. Had that been Joker's plan, and it had now been ruined? Once again, he opened his mouth to take the lead, when Joker continued before he could say anything. "What do you think marriage is?" he asked the girl on the bed, who stared at the two connected hands for a very long time before she answered.

"Iz when too people luv ee-chudder an' wive happiwy eveh aftehr."

Joker smiled, remembering all the Disney movies she had been exposed to at Bruce's request; it seemed Cinderella and Snow White's rides off in carriages with their Prince Charmings had left quite an impression on her about the subject. Bruce smiled too at her response, but it instantly faded as Joker's next statement took them both completely by surprise again.

"Not exactly."

Bruce's evaporating expression was nothing compared to hers – she seemed to melt like a snowball in the microwave upon hearing the chilling words of her father, and nearly started tearing up as he continued.

"That's what they'd like you to believe," Joker went on, tweaking her chin as she struggled not to cry upon hearing her own father destroy all beliefs in her childhood fantasies of love and marriage. "Marriage…is a _legal_ arrangement. It's society's way of creating a form of happily ever after for two people in love – in a way that suits _their_ laws and rules." It seemed his eyes grew darker as he spoke, the charcoal rings coagulating into his glittering jade orbs to meld into two seething black pits of death and contempt. This time Bruce _did_ manage to sit up, and pulled her into his lap, ready to shut Joker up and get him to stop traumatizing her so much.

One thing stopped him though, as gradually Joker's eyes seemed to emit some greater light from within, transfixing the other two as he spoke again.

"But Bruce and I…" he began slowly, with his trembling daughter filled with anticipation of what he was to utter next, "…we can't have a happily ever after like that. Not one that fits into society's laws and rules."

She was horrified. Bruce offered his arms around her, but she didn't return the embrace, too paralyzed to move in any way that would distract her from searching for the answers hidden in Joker's gleaming, probing eyes. Finally she whispered, "…why not?"

At this, Joker fixed her with a stare more solemn than she or Bruce had ever seen in their lives.

"Because what we have…is so much more powerful than that," he breathed. "So unique and so completely new…that no one has ever seen anything like it before. Something so much bigger than any of us that…that to label it as something as ordinary as _marriage_ wouldn't be bettering it."

He brought his eyes up to Bruce's, and he knew he was staring right through to his soul. "It would be hurting its worth."

Bruce realized his mouth had been slightly hanging open, and slowly closed it, his crystal gaze never leaving Joker's. The three of them seemed suspended in time, held in place by the spell that the clown's words – and the words' unbreakable _truth_ – had cast over the two men. The girl, meanwhile, couldn't begin to guess at what Joker was really getting at; she had never heard the phrase "You complete me" in her life. So she tried to piece it together as best she knew how.

"So…" she said into the stillness, breaking the spell as both men looked down to her, "yoo luv ee-chudder…_too much_ to get mawied?"

Joker brought the beginnings of a smile back to his face, easing the atmosphere to a degree (instead of chilling it as his grins usually did for the rest of the city's inhabitants). "Something like that, yes."

She nodded, then yawned; it had been a long day of counting and tickle fights, and her bedtime was steadily approaching. Stretching out of Bruce's arms, she muttered an "Ok," and walked off to her room. It seemed that the conclusion she had come to had satisfied her for the moment: if the reason her daddies weren't married was that they just loved each other too much, then maybe she preferred it that they didn't wear rings.

She remained blissfully unaware of the incredible moment of truth that Bruce had been subjected to, or that he was now kissing Joker as if he had never kissed him before.

* * *

(1) I, however, was not so lucky when I was around five or so, when I was so angry I slammed the front door open into the wall. It left a pretty solid dent, which you can still see in the wall of my entryway to this day. I wish my parents were sex-deprived symbiotic criminals so I could have been let off the hook like she was…

**The concept of Joker teaching his kid how to count using a deck of cards was just too priceless for me to resist...xD I also considered having the Queen of Hearts all taped back together after her tearing it up so much because Joker taught her that that's what happens to the Queen of Hearts (aka Harley), but I decided against it; it would make it a little too dark. **

**As for the Four of Clovers...well, you'll just have to wait and find out, now won't you? Heeheehee...**

**And how the whole concept of marriage played out...it's something I've been wondering for a looooong time: if Bruce and Joker were given the chance to get married (as in both their criminal records and activities are looked over so they're not thrown in jail or Arkham, gay marriage is suddenly legalized in Gotham City, all the chicks throwing themselves at Bruce's feet are stepped over along with Harley and Selina and Talia)...would they? As I explained, I don't think Joker would agree to it. He sees him and Batsy as so much more ABOVE societal norms and conventions. So them not conforming to the label of "marriage" is actually beneficial in his mind. Come to think of it, that's how their daughter's conception actually came about: the "joke on the innocuous night" was Bruce admitting that he'd never marry because he's pretty much stuck with Joker, and that led to guilt about him not having an heir to continue the Wayne bloodline, and Joker made the comment that "well...we could always have a kid", this led to many jokes about knocking Joker up, etc etc...a few months later they agree to have a kid for realzies! Yay. :)**

**The "B & J" pattern shot into the ceiling is - for those of you who have read my fic "Tense" (on which night and directly after the action of the piece takes place the above conversation happens about them having a kid) - from some night when Joker was bored waiting for Bruce to get home so he started shooting into the ceiling and got inspired by their love. xD Bruce would find it pretty hard to explain it to a contractor, so he never got it filled in. (And he secretly kinda likes seeing it above his head when they're in bed together. ^.^) **

**As for the "& G!" that I mentioned...well, I'm playing with an idea of a name, which I will probably get to in the next chapter, if not the one after that. It's preying on me, so it'll be up soon, I promise. Need to get a few things worked out first. And I'm sorry, I've realized that I almost always end a chapter with them having some passionate kiss of some kind, which wasn't my intent AT ALL and it's disgustingly ooc, so I'm sorry. I'm a hopless romantic writing about two very un-romantic lovers who nearly kill each other all the time. I'm hopeless. U.U**

**Oh, and I should probably mention that I'm leaving next Monday and won't be back until the following Saturday, so if I don't update by Monday I'm sorry, I'm leaving for a week. I will be back for the next few days, and after that it's kinda up in the air. We shall see. :)**


	6. Namesake

Always and Always

Chapter 6: Namesake

They didn't really know at first why they chose it.

Staring down at the union of heaven and hell between them, no words passed amongst the pair as they sat opposite each other on the floor of their bedroom, mesmerized by the simple act of her attempt to put her foot in her mouth. She made a loud coo as her gums made contact with her toes, and her pristine blue eyes rolled up to the ceiling, seeing figments of her wild baby brain's design flying above her head.

After two weeks, they were adjusting to the rigors of parenting and attending to her every need, but neither one believed they would ever completely adjust to her shimmering presence. Every day was a new discovery for her, another accomplishment in the tiniest and silliest of ways, yet her every leap forward seemed to brighten the world she had thrust them into. This beautiful dream world that was surely the most concrete reality they had ever known.

Her existence meant a number of things. It meant that Bruce had an heir, a true living blood heir to carry on his name and leave his vast fortune to. It meant that Joker was right, that his speeches of codependence and cosmic completion and two-halves-of-a-whole now had a living, breathing body of proof to back them up. It meant that Batman had someone else to fight for, while his foe had another mind to play with if he wished.

But all those facts meant nothing to them. The twinkling azure eyes that now met theirs meant more than just an inheritance quick-fix, or a divine bond solidified. For once, city-wide harmony and psychological destruction were the last things on their minds. Her clumsy grace, her dainty features, her every wiggle and squirm – _that_ was all they lived for now. A Halloween had come and gone, untouched by Clown and Bat alike. The Cat, the Rose, and the Jester had spent the haunted night still recovering in the hospital, while a three-day-old infant had held the undivided attention of the city's two forces of nature. Thus the world's capital of crime had spent its quietest Halloween in living memory, all because of a little girl.

She reached up and grabbed at Joker's face, her tiny fist taking hold of the infamous scar tissue glossed over in red. And he smiled with the bubble of happiness the gesture produced, though not from its uniqueness in that she was the only girl in the world that had a father with such a face. It was because of the act's _normality._ She knew the makeup and the scars as familiar a sight as her bottle or bath, simply another part of her world that was structured for her survival. Even Bruce couldn't regard him in that respect – while quite accustomed to displaying tenderness and passion to the painted face, the way _his_ fingertips would graze along the scars lingered with an air of the exclusive. His caress would whisper of how _special_ the scars were.

But not hers. Her simple, silly touch spoke of how _normal_ the scars were. While even Bruce would ever see his inimitable face for what it _meant _to him, she was the only person in the world who could see the scars for what they _were – _simply part of him, and nothing more.

Soon though, his smile faded into his previous expression of passive contemplation, waiting for inspiration to strike. Perhaps he could find it in her eyes; he slid his gaze to hers, drinking in every detail of the oceanic iris' unique patterns and shapes. The answer lay in there, he just knew it. It whispered on the edges of his brain, if only it could spew forth onto his tongue.

Bruce got a similar idea, and gently tilted her head up to his face, raking the eyes identical to his in hopes of gleaning insight. He was caught quite off-guard, however, as his pondering gaze was met by one of pure…abstractness. There was no telling what thoughts flitted through her head at that moment, at her oh-so-young age.

But of one thing he was sure, that one thought process certainly _didn't_ cross her mind: judgment. Everyone looked closer at him, trying to turn over a new leaf and figure out the shadowed enigma that was Bruce Wayne. He got those looks at work, at parties, as Batman from Gordon, from Lucius, from Alfred. Even from Joker, who always seemed to even be a step ahead of him and couldn't resist flaunting his newest insight about some off behavior or quirk of his. There was always _someone_ trying to pin him down for who he was in his head. But her…no. There was no guessing from her. Because she was right. It was then that he realized what her eyes were telling him, in all entirety: _You are my daddy. You love me and take care of me._ _What else is there to know?_

Everything was so black and white in her world. Bruce equals Daddy, Joker equals Daddy. Daddy equals home. Home equals food. Food equals good.

And what was good enough for her, was good enough for them.

Now, two weeks since the fiery blast into the night that had marked her arrival into the world, one final puzzle piece was missing. Without it, she couldn't exist outside of their world. She couldn't be officially adopted by Bruce Wayne, couldn't have a Social Security number or a birth certificate. She couldn't be known throughout the costumed criminal circuit as the Clown Prince's little princess. She couldn't be called for when she ran away from home, couldn't be scolded for getting into a fight on the playground, couldn't be softly whispered goodnight when they thought she was asleep.

For she didn't have a name.

Books and websites had gotten them nowhere beyond an argument, and listing suggestions off the top of their heads nearly escalated them to a case of domestic violence. For there was no way in hell that any daughter of Bruce's would be called "Dissirae," and there was no chance in heaven that the child of the Joker would carry as ordinary a name as "Martha." After a time it seemed Joker had dropped the notion of such negative connotations, until Bruce realized that the seemingly innocent suggestions that followed such as "Beverly Allitt" or "Katherine Knight" were in fact the names of psychologically disturbed murderesses and serial killers. Meanwhile, Joker scoffed at the other's attempt to please his taste for colors with "Violet Rouge," and nearly slapped him at the mention of "Emmeline Matilda," Bruce's favorite girl names; no flowery lovey-dovey name from the world of the socially elite would ever mar the indescribable perfection of _his_ daughter.

Finally, they agreed that whatever her name was destined to be, it had to come from within her. And so they sat tonight in Wayne Manor, on the fourteenth day and counting of her nameless existence, waiting for the right name to whip itself out from the depths of her young soul and present itself before them, settling the issue once and for all.

So many times throughout the night each of them had opened their mouth as if about to say something, then immediately closed it. It seemed hopeless, really. How could the two most powerful and most inherently opposite men in the city of Gotham agree upon a name for the one thing in the world that was neither one's nor the other's, but _theirs_?

As if hearing their mutual mental question, she rolled over onto the TV remote, bringing the news channel to life.

"…escalating crime rates, the mob still at large, and the continuing presence of peoples of public menace," continued Mike Engel on the screen, "this all begs the question, Mr. Mayor: you have weathered the storms of the past decade through thick and thin to be reelected twice, but _how_ exactly do you intend to bring an end to it all?"

"Well, Mike," said Mayor Garcia, "that's not a simple question by any means, and can't be answered with a simple answer."

_Oh yes it can, _Joker growled to himself. _You think YOU have difficult questions to answer, while I meanwhile…_

"I believe, Mike, that no one man can answer that question for an entire city. I believe that every individual citizen has to answer that question for themselves."

_Well, that still doesn't help me answer THIS question, _thought Bruce.

"It's like what my…wife once told me recently," his voice nearly cracked as he was struck with the painful memories of a fork sticking through said wife's left eye, "is that…in a city as vast and vibrant as this, the good and the bad will always be coexisting in the same place. No one man can hold the answers for the fate of Gotham; rather, _every_ man holds the answers. Gotham is defined by the people who live in it and what they choose to do, not by what a group of lawmakers decide. My wife told me that our current circumstances don't decide our actions, but rather our actions decide our current circumstances. So the Gotham City we know today isn't a mother of criminals; Gotham is our child, and we as a citizenry have to decide in good conscience what her fate is to be in the years to come."

An eerie silence hung heavy in the room as Bruce slowly reached out and turned off the TV. He had seen it – how Joker's face had melted from its irritated expression once those four words of glimmering truth shone out from the usual stench of bullshit and political tap dancing. And he knew his face had done the same.

Just to be sure, their eyes simultaneously darted from each others' to the third party concerned: her glowing sapphire eyes roamed the ceiling, full of that mystery they had never quite been able to place until now.

_No one man holds the answers…_

It was certainly an unusual name.

… _but rather our actions decide our current circumstances…_

Well, she was quite an unusual circumstance.

…_have to decide in good conscience what her fate is to be…_

Maybe this wasn't in good conscience, but driven by some deeper force, a hidden instinct and intuition known only to the likes of them.

…_the good and the bad will always be coexisting in the same place…_

They suddenly felt a pinch of contact as she stretched out her arms and grabbed each of their forefingers in her fists, squeezing tightly as if to say _I'm still here, don't forget me!_ As if they could ever neglect her. They squeezed back, and then raised their eyes back up to each other, knowing that at long last, even if it wasn't the most traditional choice in the world, it was most certainly the right choice.

_Gotham is our child._

**These two are obsessed with symbols (heck, look at the Batman comic "Clash of Symbols"), so I figured them giving her a symbolic name wouldn't be too weird or out of character. This idea hit me a few weeks back, and I just couldn't let it go. So she is now Gotham Wayne. Hate? Love? Please share your opinions! I'd love to hear them. :D**

**"Dissirae" was, in case you didn't get it, Joker's attempt to veil the fact that he's trying to name her "Disarray." ^.^ And I got the serial killers from looking up "Top Ten Most Evil Women in History." Heehee. There are tons of them of course, but a woman NURSE who kills her children patients and an Aussie woman who killed her husband and cooked his head and buttocks for dinner with vegetables and gravy after hanging his skin on the door for her children to find...both those seemed the most Joker to me. xD Then, as most of you know, "Matilda" is the name of Heath Ledger's daughter, and "Emmeline" is the name of Christian Bale's daughter, both of whom turn 5 years old this year! Yay :) And forgot to mention it, but in Chapter 4 I made her birthday the same as Matilda's (October 28th), just because October seemed a spookier month than March, when Emmeline was born. I'm such a creeper...**

**Once again, Mike Engel and Anthony Garcia help to drive the plot along in the most surprising of ways! Hahaha, gotta love our minor characters in TDK. Guess Joker doesn't regret failing to assassinate the mayor anymore, haha.**


	7. Pain Without Love

Always and Always

Chapter 7: Pain Without Love

**A/N: Ok, just a straight-up warning out front: this involves Harley Quinn again. Which means that this is going to be a very dark chapter. Domestic violence is a given. And also, I'm incorporating Ivy/Harley femslash into existence in this fic's universe, just because of the histories that I created for Batman/Joker in this world also revolve around the other three pairings I ship in this fanverse. So yes, it's dark, it's got Ivy/Harley femslash (nothing too graphic though, it's a kiddie fic, c'mon, I'm not THAT cruel), it's got violence towards the end, and pretty much has next to no childhood innocence. Pain, sex, and drama, but no innocence. Welcome to the world of Harley Quinn. You have been warned.**

Harley stood and scooped her screaming four-month-old daughter into her arms. For only weighing thirteen pounds, she could sure make a racket. And it seemed as if nothing she did could quiet the baby down. When she had first started out on this journey of motherhood, she had been sure that all such tricks of the trade would come naturally; "maternal instincts" and all that. Boy had she been in for one hell of a surprise once she started looking after her while Mr. J was out in the night.

It was a curious thing that she rarely saw her baby otherwise; during the day the girl vanished from sight, along with the clown of her heart. Occasionally though, Joker would return empty-handed, only mentioning that she was "well-taken care of." From the venomous look he gave her upon speaking those words, Harley never plucked up the courage to inquire further; she could only place her faith in him that their daughter was in safe hands. Seeing as she trusted him with her life, it wasn't that difficult to extend the same to her child as well.

Of course she trusted him with their baby – he was the father, wasn't he? And he had certainly warmed up to the job too, surprising even her with his parental enthusiasm. _He_ could always quiet her down when she was bawling like this; _he_ was always the one who knew just when and what she felt like eating; _he_ knew all her cries, all her screams, all her needs and mood swings – he could probably even time when she would smile next, Harley thought.

So why, oh _why_ couldn't he be here tonight to handle this mess?

"Oh, Ivy!" she cried out in relief upon noticing her friend in the doorway of the ancient, long since shut down meatpacking facility they now resided in. It was only temporary until the jesters could find a more suitable hideout to replace the one that had burned down the night of their daughter's birth, for a slaughterhouse was hardly a place to raise a newborn. Poison Ivy was quite aware of that fact as she lightly stepped over a stray cattle carcass swarming with breeding flies and maggots.

"Here, just hold her one sec!" said Harley, and dropped the wailing baby into Ivy's surprised arms before rushing across the room to the crib. A purple mobile hung above it, in the shape of an upside-down jester hat, with golden bells jingling at its four tips, slowly rotating back and forth. She took off her own jester hat and began to shoo away the flies that had come to roost within the mobile, holding her nose as the putrid stench escaped with the decay and insects that caused it.

Ivy watched the display with a frigid fire in her eyes, following every movement of her jester's futile attempts to purge the rot from her child's home. The rot that wouldn't have even been there had that night never even happened. They both still carried burns from the ordeal, no matter how well the skin grafts may have covered them up. Her eyes took note especially of the awkward way in which Harley moved her arm, never completely healed from the rafters that had fallen on top of it four months ago.

Her ears then picked up on the noisemaker in her arms, and she tilted her face down to the girl, who was still crying up to the heavens and was now flailing her arm out in her unidentified agony. She grabbed the outlying little hand in an effort to shut her up, and was greeted with a reflexive grab back as the baby caught hold of a lock of scarlet hair.

Her eyes snapped to the little one's eyes, which at the contact of tangled hair in its fist had popped open. Tears of raging discomfort almost made the blue eyes glow brighter than usual. Ivy had never really seen the girl this close before at this age, and had only been told that her eyes were a deep, riveting shade of watery blue. She had always taken this to mean that she had her mother's eyes, the most beautiful blue eyes the botanist had ever set her gaze upon.

But icy fear seemed to flow through Ivy's toxin-infested blood as she now fixed her eyes upon these petrifying orbs of the ocean's depths, glittering with some unforeseen might that no human being so young should ever have possessed. They had none of Harley's warmth and joy, none of her light gaiety that she met life's trials with. All of the life that she _should_ have by all rights contained was instead replaced by some pulsing force, a force that the woman cradling her was torn between cowering from and crushing the life out of…

He couldn't have. No, he _couldn't_ have, not to even _this _little beauty, not _her_…

The girl yanked her hair then, but she fought down her urge to yelp and repressed further still her nearly inexplicable urge to press her hand just a bit tighter around the tiny little vibrating neck. To shake her mind from that train of thoughts (for she _wouldn't_ let herself be brought down to _his_ despicable level), she tore away from the haunting eyes and stepped over to where Harley was hurriedly brushing the maggots out of the crib, just now tuning in to what her friend had been saying.

"…like I said, I'm so glad you dropped in when you did, Red, but why the unexpected visit so late at night? You coulda called before you came or somethin', cuz as much as I'd love to have you here, I've gotta lotta straightening up to do around here before Mr. J comes back home, so if you'd make it quick that'd be great…" she suddenly trailed off upon realizing that Ivy was standing three inches behind her wearing the gravest expression she had seen on the redhead's face in a long while. "Um…Red?" she asked softly, not sure exactly how to proceed with whatever news Ivy was hiding. "…what is it?"

"Harley, I…" Ivy stalled her thought, before taking a deep breath and continuing. "I think something's wrong with your baby."

Harley's face fell, just how Ivy had figured she would react. She grabbed the squealing infant from Ivy in alarm, and looked at her closely, asking, "Whaddya mean, _wrong_?"

"I mean…" Ivy stopped again. She couldn't even place it herself, but had quite a plausible suspicion; however, she knew it wouldn't fly for Harley. "…I mean…wrong, as in…_messed up_, somehow. Like someone…" her voice faded to almost nothing, before quietly finishing, "…_did_ something to her."

Harley abruptly ended her examination of her child, and rolled her eyes back up to Ivy, mouth slightly open in a _You're seriously going on about this again? _manner. She laughed once, a harsh bark of a laugh, before asking, "What could you possibly mean by that?"

"Well…" she stammered, before watching Harley shush her infant who had quite definitely decided not to listen to her mother's efforts. She screamed at her highest pitch yet, as if angry with her mother for not figuring out what was wrong in time and deciding instead to punish the harlequin for her shortcomings in the best way she knew how. Harley tried reaching her free hand up to smoothly flatten her budding golden curls, but she stretched out her arms to bat her away, fixing the woman with an irate stare as she screeched for all she was worth.

Ivy snapped. "Harley, look in her eyes!" she yelled above the racket. Harley looked up, confused. "Look at them! Don't tell me you don't see it too."

Harley held the girl aloft higher in her arms, squinting the stray projectile spittle out of her face as she peered closely into her daughter's piercing icicle eyes. Suddenly, Ivy knew she saw what she was talking about; her eyes, blue inches from angry deep blue, widened a fraction as the enormous shockwave of the glittering presence shone through the baby's eyes, betraying her father's influence.

Harley was nearly paralyzed. Ivy could tell just how much it affected her, and could barely contain herself. Could this be the day? Could the moment have _finally_ come when she stops deluding herself about this maniac and sees the light and knows I've been telling the truth all along and…?

The moment was broken as Harley's face broke into an affectionate grin at the child.

"Of course I see it," she murmured, pulling the girl closer to her chest in peaceful protectiveness (or at least, as peaceful as the crying and kicking baby would allow the moment to be). She sighed wistfully at the familiar light in the eyes that she had constantly seen in a pair of green, and said, "She's Joker's too, isn't she?"

Ivy was flabbergasted. _Still?_ she fumed. "Harley, you don't get it," she pressed, but Harley had turned her back to her, rocking little Gotham back and forth in her arms. Of course, the fucking psycho just couldn't get off his high horse for anything, so he had proceeded with his huge painted head to name his daughter after the city, as if proving further just how much Gotham City belonged to _him._ As if.

Harley hushed the girl a little further (to absolutely no avail), which made the _shh_ seem to be directed more at Ivy than Gotham. But Ivy refused to back down. "She's not normal," she gritted out behind her friend's back.

Harley tittered another laugh. "Oh, Ivy, you think anything without chloroplasts isn't normal." Ivy flushed red as her rosebuds at the remark. Unable to think of where else to put the baby while the crib was still crawling with spiders and maggots, Harley set her down upon a stray metal counter nearby. She wiggled the girl's little bare feet back and forth in an effort to amuse her, which just made the girl even more determined to quit this freak show by rattling down the ceiling tiles with her shrieks. "She's just a little whiny sometimes," she said to herself. "Besides, Mr. J can handle her all the time."

"THAT'S THE POINT!" Ivy bellowed, making Harley jump and whirl around to the villainess whose fuse had just blown. "Don't you get it? He is the _only _one who can handle her!"

Harley exhaled heavily through her nostrils and set off at a brisk pace towards the door, ready to show her out. But Ivy had other ideas.

"He did something to her," she continued, matching stride behind Harley who was attempting in vain to walk away from the truth. "Broke her, brainwashed her, I don't know, but _somehow_ he got her over to his side before she even had a chance! She belongs to _him_ now. No one else."

"She's my daughter," Harley insisted as she reached the door, "just as much as she is Joker's."

"SHE'S NOT YOURS!" thundered Ivy. "She never will be, and you'll never get her back no matter how hard you try!"

"Well, what choice does a mother like me have, Red?" Harley rounded on her friend's face inches from hers, hot tears streaking her face and running racetracks through her black and white clown makeup, mixing into an ugly knot of gray. "What am I supposed to do?" Her voice rose louder and higher until it finally cracked with her deepest reserves of strength that only awoke in her deepest despair. "_Who can I reach out to if not my own daughter?_"

Ivy rushed forward and grabbed Harley's head in her hands as she kissed her thoroughly with luscious, burning lips. Only a second's moment of fear warped Harley Quinn's eyes before she squeezed them shut in divine gratitude and buried her gloved fingers in the rich thicket of auburn hair, kissing Ivy back just as fervently. For too long they had hidden their love from the world until it almost seemed as if they were hiding it from themselves. But no more, as fireworks meshed between their bodies and their lips and fingers thrummed with pleasure at the familiar touches that had so long been denied to them. The apple of Eden now lay upon their thirsting tongues, and no squealing and squirming baby or abusive clown or fetid meat could interfere with this one simple moment of perfection for the two of them.

Harley was the one to break it off, softly, almost reluctantly. Ivy let her eyelids linger closed for just a second longer of sweet oblivion before opening them halfway to see Harley's trembling form a millimeter away. She brushed that one stubborn little lock of blonde out of her face, watching her shiver with the forbidden delight the unheard-of act of tenderness caused.

"You have me," she whispered. "You've always had me."

Harley lowered her head, still not daring to open her eyes. "I…I know that," she choked out. "I know that, Ivy."

Ivy ran her thumb past Harley's cheek. "Then why do you keep fighting me?" Harley opened her eyes then, but looked away, completely downcast. Still probing for the beautiful soul that she knew lay inside the jester, Ivy brought her close, holding her warmly in her arms just as she always used to do. "We could have a life together," she intoned into the soft ear at her lips, "just us two. I'll keep us hidden in my garden, or in the jungles of Indonesia, or amongst the canopy of the Amazon, anywhere you want to go." She kissed softly at her earlobe then, bringing her arms around her tighter in a strong embrace. "I'll keep you safe, Harley," she whispered. "I promise you that."

For a moment, Harley returned the embrace, before pulling away slightly to look Ivy in the eye. "Will you promise the same for my daughter?"

Ivy sighed, fixing her softened, almost human eyes to an apologetic glance. "She. Is not. Yours," she stated, forcing all her willpower through her words so Harley could at last understand. "Joker got a hold of her before anyone else could."

A single, final tear fell from Harley's eye before she reached up and brushed it away, ending their hug. Ivy started to take a step back, letting Harley mull over the words, until Harley reached out and grabbed her hand. She half-smiled, and squeezed it back, wanting all her warmth and care and promises and _love_ to be transmitted though one single touch. And it seemed it was working. Harley was lighting up inside, she could tell, and a verging smile was playing about her lips. At last, she had gotten through to her. They could finally _leave_ this dump of a city and all its madness and go to any forest in the world they pleased, as long as it was away from _here_.

To encourage her, Ivy smirked a bit. "At this rate, she belongs more to the Batman than she ever will to you."

A loud crack resounded throughout the slaughterhouse.

Gotham screamed louder at the noise, but that was the last thing on Ivy's mind. Suddenly she was facing the other way and her cheek was on _fire_. She blinked, surprised to find tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and rubbed at her left cheek to ease the pain away. It took a while to realize what had just happened until she slowly turned back to face a livid Harley Quinn, her burning hand still lowered from its downward arc after the slap was delivered.

"Take. That. Back." Harley murmured, her eyes blazing with a newfound wound of hatred. She would take the remarks concerning Puddin', but bringing _HIM_ into the conversation was something she would _not_ tolerate.

Ivy rubbed her sore cheek again, still stunned by this unexpected turn of events. She had just been about to whisk the love of her life away to a secret garden of happily ever after; what had just happened? She had to get back on track. "Harley, I…"

"Take it back."

Affronted, Ivy brought herself up to her full height. "I will not," she replied hotly.

"Take it back!"

"I said no!"

"TAKE IT BACK!"

"**NO!"**

For a split second both women's faces widened at the sudden voice behind Harley that most certainly had _not_ been a female voice. Then, both were knocked back as the Joker shoved them aside and sprinted to the center of the room.

Just as baby Gotham fell headfirst off the countertop.

In all their affection and screaming, neither Ivy nor Harley had paid any mind to the intensifying screams across the room that had actually signified the girl scooting closer and closer to the metallic edge. Now, they watched in half-confusion, half-horror as she hurtled to the concrete floor, shrieking in terror, as Joker most assuredly broke a world record as he sped towards her and dove into a crouch…

…and caught her just a moment before death had the chance.

Her traumatized screams echoed throughout the large room, and this time they were accompanied by legitimate tears, in contrast to her temper tantrum at Harley a few minutes ago. The cries sent waves of guilt through Harley's core for what she had neglected to do, followed by the worst dread she had ever known for what was certainly in store for her next. _She had almost killed her baby._ She would have, too, if Joker hadn't chosen that exact moment to return home. If he hadn't…

Joker was panting from the feat, and from the burst of adrenaline and pure instinct that had instigated it. His side was probably scratched up from crashing to the concrete so quickly and forcefully, and if he had paid it any mind he would have noticed his right elbow bleeding from breaking both their falls. But any physical pain of his meant absolutely nothing; his daughter was the only thought that crossed through his mind.

"Hey there, you alright?" he crooned softly to her. Immediately she fixed her attention on him. "You okay?" he asked again, bringing his gloved hand up to stroke her golden curls, his thumb moving past her tear-stained cheek. She continued to wail, and he continued to shush her. "Shh, it's alright. You're not gonna fall. I've got you now, I've got you." For less than a minute he just held her there, softly speaking his endearments, and she continued to listen to his voice and feel his arms around her. And in less than a minute, she continued to drop her volume until she was crying and sniffling only softly, her hysterics condensed to the simple honest truth: she was scared.

"Were you scared you were gonna fall?" he asked, and she made a cooing sound as if answering affirmatively. "Well, Daddy's got you now. Daddy's here." He brought her to his chest, holding her still against his heartbeat, running his hand up and down her back while he pressed his lips to her hair. "Daddy's here," he whispered to her.

Ivy wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Were plants and Harley really all there was to life? Could a rose really be called any other name and not smell sweet? Could Two Face arrive at a timely decision at a drive-thru?

_Could the Joker really be as affectionate a father as Harley had said?_

Harley could scarcely dare to breathe, lest she interrupt Mr. J's mantra of soothing messages for their daughter; whom, it seemed, had only needed her daddy there to finally become calm and quiet again like the sweet little angel she always was when Joker was around. She couldn't risk attracting attention to herself, not now.

…wait…

Moments like this – when she needed to remain hidden the most – were _always_ the moments when Joker would notice her. He seemed to have an uncanny knack for sniffing out her mischief-making or sensing the most opportune moments to assign her blame and dole out her swift punishment. But now…when she waited for the poisoned glance to appear over Gotham's head from two snake-like emerald eyes that entranced and paralyzed her…it never came. All his attention was focused on Gotham. Why, it seemed for a moment as if he were just an ordinary father comforting his baby, not the man in greasepaint she knew who would beat her as soon as even _look_ at his daughter.

In some way, waiting for his recognition of her act was even worse than the moment itself. She could certainly feel the boiling rage inside him, but instead of dripping off him in buckets, it seemed far more…contained within. And when _the Joker_ bottled up his rage and revenge…

For the next ten minutes that seemed swallowed up in many years' time, Joker just sat up on his heels on the floor next to the crib, hugging his baby girl to him as her sobs receded, while Harley and Ivy just stood at the doorway, hypnotized by the simple, timeless picture of father and daughter that most certainly did _not_ match the man in purple. But it was there before their very eyes, and they hardly knew what to expect afterward, after the absolutely _wrong_ image that was carved into their memories.

At last, Joker stirred, hefting himself off the floor while never letting go of his little Gotham. It seemed ethereal, almost dream-like, to Ivy and Harley as he fluidly – as if he had done it a thousand times before – placed the baby in her crib, before taking out handfuls of maggots to give her a cleaner bed. Once all the vermin was removed, he stood over her crib, caressing her face softly until she fell asleep in a warm bubble of comfort.

He continued to stare down at her tenderly, running his fingers back and forth across her smooth face, pausing to marvel at the softness of her ear. Taking the lobe between his thumb and forefinger, his movements slowed to almost a standstill. His face was unreadable, blank.

"Get out, Ivy."

Said woman started as the low growl was so unexpectedly issued from the otherwise pensive man. Immediately she felt her gut tense and swirl with the undiluted wrath that consumed her whenever she thought of this monster that destroyed everything she held dear. Plants never stood a chance against his infernos, and Harley…

"I said, get out."

She had never heard the Joker sound so seriously, calmly, directly _livid_ in her life. And that was what started the old emotion that overtook her at times such as these. It washed away her jealousy of him touching Harley; her contempt for his foul ways; her fury even, which should have been stronger, and _should_ have conquered any other feelings that threatened her, most of all _this_. This feeling that she always tried to deny she felt for him.

Fear.

Seeing as he still did not look up (whether that was better or worse she wasn't sure), she turned to Harley, who met her eyes with a pleading glance. _Go_, she urged. For if anyone knew the extent of Joker's wrath firsthand, it was Harley. Whatever was in store for her, she would rather die than let Ivy be a part of it as well.

Betraying her all-enduring loyalty and long-sworn vows of revenge, Ivy found herself walking out the door of the slaughterhouse.

Then, the jesters were alone. Harley was terrified; there was no one to protect her here anymore. Ivy's words echoed through her head: _I'll keep you safe, Harley. I promise you that._ But she couldn't, not in the current climate of the room. It seemed they both realized that fact. Some battles you just couldn't win.

But you could try to cut your losses with surrender.

She summoned every last remnant of courage (or was it stupidity?) and urged her feet to walk forward. Joker still hadn't moved from their daughter. And once again, her heart swelled with hope. Why, Puddin' was such a good father, looking out for their little princess! This proved they really _were_ just as normal a family as she knew they really were deep down. He _loved_ Gotham, and that by extension meant that he loved her. She was the mother of his child, wasn't she? Now they could just talk it out like normal parents would, she would explain everything to him calmly and rationally, and he would forgive her and everything would be fine again.

"Puddin', I – "

"Hush."

She immediately stopped in her tracks, obeying as a good girlfriend should. She was scarcely three feet from him now, and she couldn't feel any anger from him at all. What had she to fear?

"Little baby, don't say a word."

Then she realized that Joker was singing. Oh, Mr. J, so thoughtful to make sure Gotham was asleep! She decided she would move over next to him and join in –

– until Joker brought his eyes up to hers.

Any balloon inflated with hope instantly blew out and withered in a limp heap on the floor.

With inhuman speed he leapt up and took her by the throat, making her gasp out for air to no avail.

"Daddy's gonna buy you…"

He dragged her to the wall.

"…a mockingbird."

He slammed her skull into the mirror she had insisted on setting up for both their makeup application rituals. Little did she know he had a much cleaner and more expensive mirror elsewhere for such purposes.

"And if that mockingbird…"

He picked her up by her hair and flipped her half-dazed form over his shoulder, before grabbing the nearest leg bone of a long-since slaughtered calf. It was broken in two, and the larger half he hoisted in his hand ended in jagged edges on one end.

"…don't sing…"

He drove the jagged edge of the bone into her shoulder blade, making her scream. Then, channeling his rage into focus again after the sudden outburst of violence, his movements turned more methodical as he slowly, slowly, _slooowly_ dragged the bone down her back, before withdrawing it at the base of her ribcage.

"…Daddy's gonna buy you…"

His words rang loud and true into her ear as he next attacked the other shoulder blade, drawing a line down her back parallel to the other one.

"…a diamond ring."

Her cries of agony never abated as he brought the bone into a curved line through the small of her back, making sure to stop and start again at random intervals just to hear her screams and sobs intensify and to feel her body quiver more rapidly against him. Once the bone withdrew from her back, he glanced at the image created: a smiley face. Perfect. Except for the nose.

"And if that diamond ring…"

He brought the bone full out in front of him, preparing to strike.

"…is _brass_…"

He plunged the bone squelching through her back right next to her vertebrae, completing the face as she screamed louder and longer than even Gotham had earlier that night. Releasing the pressure on the bone, he let his hand fall to his side, pleased to see the bone still lay sticking out of her back. It unfortunately didn't poke through her belly on the other side, but for now it would have to do; he couldn't contain his rage much longer.

"…Daddy's gonna buy you…"

He brought his hand to nearly crush her jaw as he shoved her face up at his, horrified and pleading blue eyes meeting cold and merciless green. Somehow, they both came to the simultaneous understanding of what was coming next. But it was so far away…across the room…

"…_a looking glass._"

He grabbed her by the neck and the thigh and, with the strength his fierce paternal _possessiveness_ incited within him, threw her across the room, through the window's unforgiving glass, and to the ground below, to leave her in paralyzing pain with no way to call out for help or end it on her own.

xxx

Bruce reached to scoop his daughter from Joker's arms. Finally; he hadn't seen her all night, and it was just beginning to make itself clear to him that he was falling into the same trap that he had sworn he would never become prey to when _his_ parents became subjected to the same: _paranoia._

"Did you just wake up?" he asked her, and she smiled at him widely before grabbing at his shirt to snuggle herself closer to him. Whatever she had seen that night, she would never tell.

Bruce kissed her head, then looked up at Joker. Then looked up again, not sure he had seen right. His hands and front were stained with a dark color that he had seen far too often on that purple coat. It seemed to gather at his right elbow most prominently, but the freshest stains were on his green vest and shirt.

"You look…terrible…" he ventured, albeit quite unsure as to whether he wanted to venture in this direction. Though concern won out over his conscience, as it always seemed to do when Joker's blood was in question.

At hearing his lover's tone of voice, Joker grinned wickedly, quickly confirming Bruce's doubts about asking him. As he brushed by the father of his child, he remarked lowly in his ear, "You should see Harley," leaving Bruce to clutch his daughter closer to his chest against the world she was to be inevitably subjected to.

**A/N: Ugh, I'm doing all this research about babies (when they smile, open their eyes, how much they weigh at different ages, when they learn to count and walk and sit up and speak, etc.)…it's exhausting. But soooo adorable… ^.^**

**Ok, I hope this didn't break the flow of the story of happy little Gotham's world *too* much. And of course, at this age babies don't remember anything…right…? *shifty eyes* Just you wait, little Gotham, things get HARSH later on. (Then again, with a name and heritage as prophetic as that, there's not much else you can hope for.)**

**And the "Hush, Little Baby" song bit…that song has creeped me out for years now. So when I got the general idea for this chapter, I suddenly was singing that song and imagined Joker singing it in that creepy-psycho-serious way that I imagine him doing here and…there ya go. Now you can share my pain and get creeped out like I do! Haha xD …*shudder***


	8. Poker Face

Always and Always

Chapter 8: Poker Face

Gotham Wayne knew how to sneak. Whether it was from the bit of Batman within her that required nightly prowling and sleuthing skills, or from her observance of Joker who could sneak into even the most heavily guarded areas of the city's infrastructure to blend in and infiltrate with ease, neither one knew. But suddenly, they found themselves with another household member who was constantly lurking, either in the shadows or plain sight, but somehow people just glazed over her presence when she wanted them to. In her earlier years it was quite an unconscious behavior, but when she learned it could be used to discover what Alfred was getting her for Christmas she decided to exploit her unnatural gift into a flawless tactic, utilizing her skill to learn and observe things she couldn't otherwise do.

She hadn't undergone ninjitsu training in the mountains of Tibet, or studied city blueprints extensively until their layout came as naturally as scratching one's nose. This would perhaps put her at a disadvantage when trying to defeat her fathers in hide and seek. But around other adults she had one glaring upper hand on Bruce and Joker that they could never hope to replicate: she was only four years old. And as every child that age was quick to pick up on, adults tended to ignore a four-year-old when they weren't obligated to parent, teach, or babysit.

Especially if they were afraid of one.

And when it came to Gotham, the little junior jester, such was certainly the unspoken case at Harley Quinn's weekly poker party.

The child was supposed to be playing in her room that had been transformed from a storage loft in the half-demolished theater that the Joker had taken up residence in three years ago. It had actually once been a sort of gathering spot for the homeless of the city's slums, and had later become an unofficial meeting ground for the criminally elite. In sharing their mutual hatred of Batman, their one greatest adversary, the villains had constructed a wordless contract with each other that the building was a neutral territory amongst them. All that changed when the Joker moved from the slaughterhouse into the playhouse. While they still continued to meet there, his trace of dominance and ownership soured the air considerably.

And it was just this unpleasant atmosphere that Gotham had ventured out of her room to investigate. Child's instinct led her to the assumption that the strange men and women that came every Wednesday night were here on _adult _business, and that she in turn was to stay out of their affairs. But tonight she had cracked. What were they doing down there while Daddy was gone and she-who-is-not-Mommy was cleaning house? And why do they hush each other when I walk past them to ask her when Daddy will be back? And then when I go back to my room, why do they always _watch_ me?

She slid down from the loft on the underside of the ladder, slipping her way down with her hands and legs so as not to make any noise or unnecessary movements. When she reached the end of the ladder, she still had a foot to go before she reached the floor. She silently leapt to the ground, landing on all fours, with such stealth as would have made her parents proud. Like a little tiger she crept forward, rising to her feet but sticking to the edges of the stage, which was bare but for a table fished out of the prop closet and nine chairs, all but one of which were filled with some of the most terrifying criminals Gotham City had to offer.

But all their killings, thefts, drug deals, and destruction were unknown to her. To her, they were grownups that weren't Bruce, Joker, or Alfred, which meant caution. The fact that she could own them just by walking in the room and proclaiming either side of her double-lineage slipped right past her steel trap of a mind. Though as she watched them play the game her father had taught her extensively, she quickly discerned one more laughable fact about them.

They were very bad poker players.

Riddler's ego was his problem; he would barely be able to contain his smug smile whenever he got even a remotely good hand, and would try to mask his oncoming temper tantrum behind a forced grin when the odds were steeped against him. Ventriloquist never stood a chance with Froggy always trying to betray Scarface's true hand to the rest of them, and eventually Roxy Rocket would engage the puppet in a guessing game, shaking or nodding his head as she rattled off his possible hands but always ending in a titanic fistfight between Wesker's two hands. Little did Roxy realize that by calling him out on what cards he had, she revealed exactly what kind of hand _she_ held. Not that the others needed any extra help when it came to her – her posture assumed that of a fighter pilot's whenever she lucked out, and drooped as if crash landing when she didn't.

Hatter's cues were all in the lips: licking nervously or quivering with pride according to his hand. Two Face was a curious case; he would set down his hand quicker and glance to the left if his hand were lower, and nearly savor his cards if he placed higher, not looking up for a long while. Of course, he had his trusty coin handy when he needed to decide if someone was deceiving him or if he should fold or not. What he decided to do with the coin flip was key: if burnt side showed and he still threw in his chip, he had been asking himself if he _should_ fold, which meant he had a bad hand. The only one at the table who seemed to pick up on this was Scarecrow, who probably out of the lot of them would have stood a chance, had he not constantly distracted himself by glancing to Harvey at his right after every deal.

Poison Ivy had learned quite a bit about cards from Harley, and scanned her eyes around the rest of her fellow players, looking for these subtle hints to give them away. But the motion itself was in fact _her_ weakness: she scanned quicker when nervous, and seemed to paint her gaze around her garden of comrades if she was confident in her hand, as if she _knew_ she had them in this game and they didn't. And always, her eyes would linger last on the man sitting at the corner diagonal from her, for if he were sitting any closer to her all plants in a ten-mile radius would have frozen to death. Mr. Freeze held his snow globe of Nora behind his back, and would stroke his thumb along the glass tenderly when his hand was better. For the more money he won in these weekly games, the more could be used to further his efforts to cure her at long last.

All these tendencies went unnoticed by the lot of them, though Ivy attempted to look for them but always wound up almost as clueless as before. But Gotham perceived them all from watching but three scant rounds from her vantage point in the stage left wing, and watched fascinated at the instantaneous manner in which cards were dealt and chips were tossed in. It was a work of art to her young eyes.

"Having fun?" intoned a voice behind her, as a hand came across her left shoulder. She nearly jumped, but recovered after realizing who exactly it was. She wasn't the only one in her family who could sneak up without detection.

She looked up and smiled back at Joker, a bit surprised that he had come back so early. Usually when he returned, it meant the end of the poker game, for no one wanted to hang around long in his presence. But it seemed that upon noticing her down on the stage, he had decided to remain unannounced and see what she was up to first. Now, as he stood next to his daughter, he watched her shrug and turn back to the people at the table.

For a long time they stood together watching the game in silence, hidden in the shadows of backstage. At length, she quietly asked him, "Do they not like me?"

He looked back down to her. "What gives you that idea?"

She shrugged again. "They look at me funny, Daddy. Whenever I walk past them to ask when you're coming back. Then they watch me leave, and they _still_ look at me funny."

Joker arched an eyebrow. This simply would not do, to have them treat her like a freak when she was but four years old. True, she was the child of The Two Kings of Freaks, but both he and Bruce were of the same mind that she didn't have to carry that burden at such a young age.

But, he reasoned, that didn't mean that she couldn't be made aware of her inherent power.

"You know why they do that?" he asked her. She shook her head no, obviously quite hurt that she was given such peculiar treatment from adults when she couldn't think of anything she had done wrong to deserve it. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, and his response made her perhaps more confused than before.

"Because they're afraid of you."

She looked back up to his painted face, utterly bewildered. But it must be true; if she couldn't trust what her daddy told her, whom else could she trust? So instead of asking again for the real answer, she uttered a tentative, "…why?"

At her question he smiled slyly and full of pride. "Because you're my daughter. And they know it." He looked back to them. "They may not be the brightest crayons in the box, but they know their place." _They know who really owns this city, and who really belongs opposite Batsy._

"But they don't know how to bluff," she remarked, and they laughed softly together, still unheard by the terrible bluffers in question. Then, she got an idea. Attempting to wheedle out what she wanted from him, she sighed and said, "I just…wish I could play with them."

A light bulb went off in Joker's head, and his eyes narrowed to slits as his mouth crept upward. The money they were surely using had to be the counterfeit that Bruce had been trying to locate for a while now – money that had been used in plots to hurt them both. He had known for some time that he had to show the crazies who the Alpha Crazy was around here, but exactly how to extract their cash from them in the most effective and creative way possible hadn't made itself clear to him until now.

For now he had an innocent four-year-old at his disposal.

A four-year-old whom they knew next to nothing about.

Who _terrified_ them.

He slid his gaze back down to her. "Who says you can't? They're your guests here, too."

She snapped her head back up to him, startled that she hadn't met more resistance to her request and illuminated with childlike excitement. Then, her face fell. "But…what if they won't let me?" she asked.

"Oh, they will," he assured her. "Just ask them." He gave her an encouraging push forward, and she toddled out into the limelight that shone in center stage to approach Harley's momentarily vacant chair.

Upon her entrance the villains immediately ended their conversations and melted their faces to as neutral as possible in their shocked, uneasy states. All eyes fixed on her, tracking her every movement like circling vultures afraid their dead target would strike back. Underneath the table, Dent and Crane reached for each others' hands protectively, instead of batting each other away as usual.

When she finally made it to the chair, she stood next to it, deciding to be as polite as possible to the scary grownups who were, for reasons she still didn't fully understand, afraid of _her_.

"Can I play too?" she asked sweetly. Her deep blue eyes widened like a fawn's as she searched their faces, and each time she focused on another they immediately turned away at the overwhelming eye contact. Froggy gave a tentative wave of greeting to her, but Scarface slapped his arm down at once. Freeze held his snow globe closer to him, unaware of just how vital a role he had played in this demonic angel's creation.

They all wanted to say no. Of course they did; _none_ of them wanted the daughter of the most insane and terrifying man they had ever known to play with them in his domain with the cards her father lived by. Not when their hard-earned illegally-obtained cash was on the line. Ivy clearly remembered the trouble this child had caused her and Harley from day one of her existence, and was about to open her mouth to speak-

-when over Gotham's head they all noticed the dark silhouette in the wing. Joker stood nonchalantly cleaning his knife, running his thumb along the blade's razor edge in a chilling caress. He had moved out from the shadows just enough so they could notice his presence, though all they could make out in detail was the shining glint of the blade in his hand. Upon hearing the silence in the room, his movements stilled, and he slowly brought his eyes up to the eight at the table. All they could see was a shadow of a man, the silvery light of his knife, and two pinpricks of glittering jade that promised exactly what he would _do_ with the silver should they decline his offspring's request.

Roxy was the one to break. "Of course you can, sweetums," she said brightly, if perhaps a bit forced. The others shot warning glances at her, but she looked right back at them. _What did you expect me to do?_

Completely oblivious to her father's act of coercion, Gotham squealed with delight and jumped up onto the chair, swinging her legs happily half a foot off the ground. She was nearly bouncing up and down with excitement for getting to play a game with the _grownups_, which seemed to lighten the atmosphere a notch. She was just a little kid who wanted someone to play with, what was the harm in that? She probably didn't know how to play poker anyway, and just wanted to hold some cards for five minutes before getting distracted by something else. That in mind, the villains smiled a little to each other as they threw in their ante and Hatter dealt out the next round.

Joker smiled with satisfaction and left to see where Harley had run off to.

The moment they looked up at their cards together was when Gotham knew she had to pounce. That was, as Joker had taught her, when their initial reactions would set off, before they could cover them up and turn on their (in this case quite pitiful) poker faces. But they couldn't know she was looking up at their reactions; a façade of childish innocence and ignorance would be useful here, she knew. So she almost subconsciously slowed her breathing to a softer sound, shrank in her body just a smidgen closer to herself, and imperceptibly sank a fraction lower in her chair. The result: instant invisibility. Hiding in plain sight. And no one noticed as her eyes darted about their faces, filing their movements and expressions into her mind for later use.

Roxy shrank down a tad.

Riddler's eyes lighted up with a smile inside, just barely masked on his lips.

Hatter's tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth.

Two Face stared at his cards.

Froggy jumped up in glee, while Scarface drooped a millimeter before clamping down on the other puppet.

Scarecrow's eyes narrowed.

Freeze swallowed and tightened his hold on Nora.

Ivy – whom she knew she had to hide most from – flitted her eyes about at lightning speed.

It told the girl all she needed to know.

"So, Jonathan," said Riddler, in an attempt to ease back the conversation, "what were you saying before Harley left?"

"Yes, well," said Crane, "apparently they are expecting to tighten Arkham's security yet _again_ in another two weeks or so."

"Ugh, not more gadgets from Wayne Enterprises," Ivy moaned. The others echoed her contemptuous sentiments – all but Gotham, who had perked up her ears at the mention of her last name. But still not wanting to draw attention to herself, she remained silent.

Crane shook his head. "Not this time. They're going to be installing several more armed guards stationed throughout the institute, doubling or even tripling the number already in place. And they'll have all the latest weaponry, of course. Semi-automatics, tasers, cattle prods, the works."

The others sighed, already formulating exactly how to modify their rainy-day escape methods to suit the change in security.

"They are also taking extra measures to 'protect' the staff as well," he continued, "so they have started instigating pat-downs for everyone to enter or exit patients' cells." He was quite disgruntled by the fact, and everyone knew it, causing them to laugh.

"Wassa matter, Jonny, afraid of people touching you?" Riddler mocked, placing his hand tight on Crane's shoulder and playfully rocking him back and forth, much to the amusement of the others. Crane shook him off roughly, unable to conceal the twinge down his spine that attested to his sheer _loathing_ of human contact. In all the hilarity, no one but Gotham noticed the curious way in which the jaw muscles bulged and clenched fiercely in Harvey Dent's exposed side of his face.

Crane straightened his glasses and continued as the laughter subsided. "They claim that all the extra measures are for the staff's safety as well as the patients. I'm sure you've all heard the rumor of the rogue crocodile living in the building's sewers?" He slid a good number of his chips forward to the center of the table, which made Gotham quite happy indeed. He had always been the oddball of the group, the one whose reactions she just couldn't pin down every time. She had almost thought that his eyes narrowing had meant he was frustrated with his hand, but his bid in told her otherwise.

The others seemed to notice his high bet too, and shifted uncomfortably in their seats. "Yes…" murmured Riddler in answer to his question as he matched his bet. Then, as an afterthought of narcissism took over, he raised it two more, then a third for good measure. Crane raised his eyebrows in surprise, but was quite pleased inside that he was about to swindle Edward out of more money. Freeze folded, not wanting to risk any more of his wife's recovery fund, but the others followed suit, matching Riddler's raise.

"They say that there's no need to worry about any sort of creature escaping into the asylum itself," Crane went on as the bids were thrown in, "for there is no known point of entry from the building into the sewers."

As he threw in his next three chips to meet Riddler's, the rest of his companions just stared at him. He stared back, then all eight erupted into laughter – every single one of them had made countless trips from the asylum into the sewers to escape.

"Wait, so…" Ivy interjected a few minutes later once the laughter died down, "that means there _is_ a way for the animal to get inside?"

Crane shrugged. "If such a creature exists. I found a body once underground that looked as if it _could_ have been attacked by a sort of mutant reptilian animal, but upon autopsy I found no conclusive evidence."

"What's 'auptossy'?" Gotham blurted out.

The adults jumped at the sudden question; in all their discussion they had completely forgotten that the four-year-old was still at the table with them. Now, they stared at her for actually daring to interrupt their conversation, then turned to look at Crane, whom she was looking towards in answer to her question.

Quite taken aback, he tried to cover it up by giving an answer suitable for his young audience so she would forget about it. "It's…nothing. Grownup stuff. Ask your mother sometime."

Gotham nodded. "Okay," she said, making a mental note to ask her _father_ later, and dropped the subject.

Joker, who had been discretely watching from the fly rail after giving up on locating Harley, was quite shocked himself that she had chosen to interject, but not for the reason the others were. He had known all along her true intent of remaining out of their radar to better observe and gain the upper hand. Now, it seemed she had just blown her cover by reverting to her insatiable curiosity that sometimes let questions slip from her mental filter before she could stop herself. Now they were aware that she was there, and that she was _listening_. Now they would be on their guard around her. Maybe he should bail her out before she completely wrecked the situation or put herself at risk. A poker game of criminals was certainly no place for a child, and she was behaving just like a child right now.

Suddenly, he realized he had hit on it. His eyes widened as he marveled at the thought that had just occurred to him.

She _was_ behaving just like a child right now.

And call him crazy, but…he was quite certain that she was doing it on purpose.

It suddenly came to him just what his daughter was doing. Hiding and listening was one thing, but this just took the cake. By projecting her innocence to its fullest, there was no way they would ever suspect she was pretending. Because her actions had nothing pretend about them! There was nothing to see through, but in that she could create such a beautiful façade by _not creating anything_.

Her greatest bluff wasn't being quiet and fading into the background.

Her greatest bluff was being herself.

He smiled with pride as he watched the villains below him trade in their cards while they tried to politely ignore the little girl's presence as much as possible. She sat quietly in her chair, still swinging her legs, looking at her own five cards, then up at the ceiling, then to the fly rail as she noticed him. He slid his finger to his mouth in a _shh_ signal and winked at her. She smiled back, then looked away, knowing that her daddy silently watched over her.

The trade-in of cards had little effect on her initial judgments of their hands; Scarecrow, Two Face, and Riddler were the ones she still had to keep an eye on. She suspected that Riddler didn't really have as good a hand now as before, or that maybe he was still trying to convince himself that he was going to win regardless, simply because he just _knew_ inside that he was _better_ than the rest of them in every way. She noticed about Harvey, however, that this time he flipped his coin before sliding in his chips, and that it had landed burnt side up. That just left Scarecrow. She still couldn't quite tell with him. She supposed the moment of truth had come, and she would just have to wait and see.

Roxy folded. The others threw down their cards: Wesker had nothing of merit but a high Jack; Ivy, pair of nines; Harvey, two Queens and an Ace; Hatter, another Ace; Riddler, two threes and two sevens; Scarecrow, the winner with three fives.

Riddler's face fell, for he had been sure he had won that hand. Scarecrow sighed in smug victory and reached for the substantial pile in the center when-

"…what about me?"

They all turned to the little girl who had meekly butted in. But to humor her, Froggy said, "Sure, you can throw down your cards too if you want." Scarface was silent.

Obeying, with a look of absolute uncertainty on her face, Gotham let her full house fall face-up onto the table.

No one said a word.

"…is that good?" she asked, appearing quite timid about the fact that no one else at the table moved a muscle, let alone plucked up the courage to breathe.

"Yes," Ivy opened her mouth at length. "…yes, you…just won the round…"

"I did?" she exclaimed in amazement, eyes bulging. The others nodded slightly, still recovering from the shock that she had in fact beaten them all, as Crane continued to sweep the chips towards him.

"…so do I get the pretty circles?"

His eyes snapped up to her and he froze his arm, as all eyes were staring at either him or her, waiting for the tension to snap. She had won, yes, but that didn't mean she was _playing_, or that she was going to get _money_ out of this, was she? She was just there to watch and hold a few cards, not actually partake in the game itself.

But somehow, the villains found themselves giving in to the innocence flowing from the girl's wide blue eyes, as half the chips in the entire game were scooted down the table in front of her.

And so the game continued, with the four-year-old member a force that they suddenly had to reckon with. But they still believed it was beginner's luck, not her skills of perception, hiding, and childlike behavior. So once again, they didn't pay her any mind as she blended into her chair when the cards went up, drinking in their reactions.

Roxy rose higher this time, puffing out her chest but keeping her face blank.

Riddler stopped himself from smiling full-out just in time.

Hatter's tongue was on the move again.

Two Face slid his cards down, and glanced to Scarecrow out of the corner of his eye.

But found no purchase, as Scarecrow released a breath through his nostrils, eyes still glued on the cards.

Freeze's thumb slid down the side of Nora's glass once, twice.

Ivy's coy glance raked slow lines through the rest of them.

They all seemed to be more confident this time, even if their hands told otherwise. Maybe it was time to be a little more…_juvenile._

She took one look at her cards, then giggled loudly.

The others' eyes widened, and looked up to each other in dread. For that giggle had, for half a second, sounded as if the genocidal clown were sitting at the table with them, instead of a mere child. It just served as another reminder of whom they were dealing with – this was perhaps no mere child after all.

As they all placed their chips in the center, she giggled again. And again, and again, as if some private joke of hers simply could not be contained any longer.

Then Scarface snapped. "_What_ is so funny?" he growled.

"Be nice," Froggy murmured. Scarface whacked him.

She grinned up at them, and opened her mouth wide as if to speak, then looked at her cards and clamped her mouth shut. Clutching the cards close to her chest, she said angelically, "I'm not supposed to tell you that, am I?"

They all seemed to hitch their breath at the confirmation of their fear: she had a good hand again. And seeing as she was only four, she couldn't hide it if she tried. At once Freeze made to take his bet back, but Two Face stopped him – even if he wanted to as well, he at least knew what was fair and what wasn't. There was no cheating in a game when _he_ was around. And so Freeze had to answer to another of Riddler's unusually high bets, leaving him with very few poker chips left.

The bets made their way around the table, and Roxy piped up, "Hey Hatter, you ever gonna finish that Neverland house you told us about?"

"_Wonderland_ house," he corrected, "and yes, actually it's in the final stages. It should be up and running in about a month or so." He hadn't stopped going on about his underground dream home for ages, which involved funding from selling the leftover mercury he used for curing his hats, and plenty of pet white rabbits and caterpillars in the extensive network of bedrooms he had built for his captive children to sleep in. "Maybe I can show it to you sometime, if you'd like."

"I think I would like that, thank you," Roxy beamed at him.

"You have a Wonderland house?" Gotham asked him incredulously, excitement creeping up on her again. "Can I go too?"

Hatter paused, unsure of what to say. At least with Scarecrow her question could be batted away with "grownup stuff," but to say no to this was difficult to say the least. No lie could be used to shoo this one away, especially since he was wondering himself if it would be a good idea. What a figurehead for his collection of young ones she would make…she was certainly quite a pretty little thing…and so naïve…and _young_…

"Um…I'm not sure that would be a good idea," Roxy answered for him, giving him a disapproving look. She knew that wherever Joker was, he would most certainly have shot Hatter's brains out for even _entertaining_ the notion of his daughter in the pedophile's clutches. Gotham looked quite disappointed, but said nothing, simply pushed half of her accumulated chips in the center of the table.

They were appalled. She had the most chips to be sure, but to bid that many all at once…what a child she was to have no inhibitions like that – when she saw a good hand she just threw them all in! What was she trying to pull here? But of course, they had no choice but to comply with her outrageous request, and soon all but her and Riddler – who had the second highest amount – were looking at a measly, pitiful mass of chips in front of each of them.

Riddler eyed her curiously. He wasn't buying this, not one bit, not after what she had pulled the last round. She was…up to something…no, she couldn't be, she was just a kid…

…was she _bluffing_?

Well, there was one way he could find out. Reaching in front of him, he upped the ante even higher, waiting to see if she would acquiesce. The others put theirs in too, but it was quite clear to them that this would be their last round if they went any further. His eyes trained on hers, she smiled and pushed the required amount in, grinning like a fool.

Once all bets were satisfied, they traded in cards. All but her; she held on to her hand, apparently so confident in her cards that nothing could possibly make it better. Riddler continued to stare at her, wondering if maybe her composure would slip when she thought no one was looking. But it never did. Well…maybe she really _wasn't_ bluffing at all. Oh, what was he thinking; she was only four! How could a four-year-old know anything about poker?

Then again…how could a four-year-old defeat _him_ at poker last round?

She had just gotten lucky. Yes, that was it. Well, there was no Mr. Nice Enigma anymore. His hand may not be as good as she pretended _hers_ was, but he was the greatest bluffer he knew; it was time for business.

He stared her down as he slid in another ten chips, making the pile the heftiest yet. Everyone looked at him quizzically, but Roxy foolishly complied with the rest of her chips. Freeze and Ivy did the same, but Hatter and Scarecrow folded; they knew when to cut their losses. Two Face flipped his coin, but no one saw the result; he simply put down his cards in defeat. Scarface emptied his hoard as Roxy had, much to a trembling Froggy's dismay.

All heads turned to Gotham. She decided to meet Riddler's face, and with a wider grin than before put her required ten chips in.

Then, his lip curled as she put in five more.

Everyone but Riddler folded at the act. It was all on him now, and may God be with him against this junior she-demon. But he wasn't giving up. He chucked in seven chips; she put in ten. He threw in an additional three; she, five. On and on the battle of wills went, Riddler incredulous that she still hadn't wiped that grin off her face. Was she just going to _smile_ like that until it became carved into her cheeks? He reached for more chips, until he realized…

…he had none left.

"Hatter, give me more chips," he growled. Hatter gave him a _What the FUCK are you doing?_ look, but consented. He just hoped, as the chips rattled down with the others, that Riddler really had as good of a hand as he thought.

She upped it ten more.

"Hatter," Riddler beckoned for more, not taking his eyes off his adversary. But Hatter only had five left. Without bothering to ask, Riddler swiped the five, as well as seven more from Two Face, wiping him clean as well. There was _no way_ that he was going to be bested by a stubborn, know-nothing, arrogant little…

She put in the two more required to end the betting, and Riddler threw down his cards in triumph. "HA!" he yelled in her face, "FOUR TENS! I BET YOU CAN'T BEAT FOUR TENS, YOU LYING LITTLE-"

"…I wasn't finished yet," she stated quietly. His face froze as she slid in a solitary chip, upping the bid a single dollar.

A single dollar that he didn't have, and that Scarecrow – the only other player still with money to bet – certainly wasn't going to lend him.

Not only was he unable to match her bid if he were still in, but he had also thrown down his cards before her bet was finished. Which constituted folding. No matter how he tried to explain his way out of this one, he had lost. And not only that, he had dragged Two Face and Hatter down with him, an act they certainly weren't going to forgive anytime soon.

She greedily grabbed the pile before her, to the point that when amassed in front of her she couldn't even see above the mound of pretty circles she had won.

"I couldn't, though," she said, and Riddler snapped his head back up to her.

"…couldn't…what?" he gritted out.

"I couldn't beat four tens," she simply stated, throwing down her hand to reveal a seven, a three, a two, a six, and a King of Clubs, which had been what she had been giggling so profusely at in memory of throwing cards at Bruce. "I only had a King."

They were astounded. Freeze could have beaten that. Ivy could have beaten that. Hell, even _Ventriloquist_ could have beaten that, and he only had a high Ace! But yet she had duped them all, and had knocked them out fairly quickly. She had known Riddler's ego could be fueled to her advantage the moment she saw his betting style, and she had just been proven right. Now there was only Scarecrow.

Who, to be perfectly candid, scared her the most.

There was something…off about his mannerisms. Thanks to his studies in psychology, he was the only one out of the lot of them who knew the true nature of betting and bluffing. Ivy had tried to pretend she knew, and most believed her intimidating stares after every hand was dealt that she knew what she was doing. But the difference between him and her was that he _did_ know, but kept that information private. No one needed to know that he was in his element here. In the game of poker, the mind granted one power, and as such when he brushed thoughts of Harvey aside he was the true giant at these weekly meetings.

The cards were dealt, but this time Gotham knew that she was the center of attention. There was no shrinking into the background to covertly observe everyone this round. Granted, there was only one man she had to watch this time, but there was also only one person _he_ had to watch, as well. And everyone else would be watching her, too, and she was willing to bet that they were all most assuredly on the doctor's side.

Well, maybe fear wasn't something to run from in this circumstance.

She looked at her cards: a pair of fours, Queen high card. Not the best she could have hoped for, but it at least gave her something to work with. Wondering what her opponent's face would betray (if anything), she glanced up at him, only to meet eight pairs of eyes leering back at her.

Jonathan Crane's expression was blank, but the others slyly looked back with knowing glances. They knew that no matter how much luck she had had before, she was finally going to get it this time.

_Finally, she'll stop sucking the life out of my Nora._

_At last, this little brat of a fucking psycho will get what she deserves for beating ME._

_Maybe I _should_ take her off to my Wonderland for this…_

_C'mon, Jonathan, show her how to play fair so we can get out of here…_

_This'd getter ge good, watching her get de trouncin' of a lifetime…_

_Now Joker is gonna get what he DESERVES for brainwashing my Harley's girl…_

But Scarecrow's mind had no such cluttering thoughts. Instead, he focused not on _his_ motives in the situation, but _hers._

She was certainly very good at hiding what was in her head; at least, she gave off quite confusing signals. Her hopeful glance meant that she was feeling confident, but her trembling hands that held the cards said she was scared. Fear didn't radiate from her like it should have in such an intimidating situation; it was rather subtle, really. But it still didn't tell him if she had a good hand or not.

Then his eyes locked on hers. She looked imploringly up at him, like a puppy wanting to be let inside against the cold. A hint of a smile waved at him from those cobalt depths, which instantly set him on his guard. He pushed his bet forward, still keeping eye contact with her. She was lying, he knew it. She would have been far more outwardly happy had she a good hand.

But as she slid her bet forward in answer, he almost _heard_ her question in his head as her eyes gazed up at him.

_Why would I lie to you?_

Really, why _would_ she? He forced himself to remind his brain that he was staring down a four-year-old girl, an act of his that had broken full-grown men into breaking as they felt his eyes combing their minds and reading them like a book. Even Harvey's defenses couldn't hold up for long against his probing glance, not if he had something to hide. But she never squirmed inside, only unflinchingly met his eyes as she almost started tearing up in an image of innocence threatened.

_Why would I lie to you?_

Because she's trying to guilt me into folding.

_Why would I ever want to cause you harm?_

Because she's a sneaky little offspring of the devil himself. Don't listen to her, don't –

_What could I ever possibly do to hurt you?_

He had no answer to that. He was bandying questions back and forth in his head with a little kid, who probably couldn't even imagine the beginnings of the crimes that the men and women that surrounded her had committed in their lengthy street careers. These men and women who were outright, spitefully _bullying_ her. And whether she decided to show it or not, no one could deny the fact that she was, underneath it all, afraid.

_…why would I lie…to you?_

Fear was what he got off on, but when it came so easily, without a struggle, from this mere_ child_…

"I fold," he softly announced. Not a breath was uttered from his companions as he set down his cards, revealing his flush in Spades.

She looked up at him. "You could've beaten me, though."

"But he didn't. You won tonight," came a grating voice behind her that soothed her ears like no other. She turned around to the Joker's approaching footsteps, whose eyes were absolutely _glowing_ with the thrill of her dominating victory.

"So do I get the circles?" she asked in wondrous glee.

He grinned wider. "No, even better." He put his hand on her head, stroking through her locks of blonde as he turned to the defeated criminals. "You get to take their money."

She positively lit up with amazement. _That_ was not what she had been expecting; tonight was just getting better and better!

The villains had been praying that the Joker wouldn't return and tell her that, so they could just let her keep the circles and leave them with the same amount of cash they started out with. But as his glare met their fear-stricken countenances, they wound up handing over the bag that they had stockpiled their money in when they first exchanged them earlier that night for poker chips.

She stared into the bag wide-eyed with delight. She had never seen this much green cash all at once in one place in her life. "I don't think this'll all fit in my piggy bank…" she nearly whispered in awe.

Joker smiled. "Well, if that's the case I'll have to get you a bigger one." She couldn't stop grinning as he settled his arm around her shoulder and led her away from the seething villains, enraged and still shellshocked from the magnitude of their loss.

"I still don't get it, though," she remarked to her dad as they walked together towards the door. "Why do I get all their money? All I did was play a card game."

Joker paused, and looked down at her. "You know what, you make a valid point." He slowly rounded on the criminals, and they had never been quite so intimidated before. His eyes were like stars as he fixed them with the most piercing stare they had ever received from him.

"All she did…" he said lowly, almost inaudibly, "…was _play a card game._"

No one spoke or stirred after the pair had left. They wondered how they had still managed to keep their hearts beating after his words, so frozen in fear they had become.

For they knew what he had meant, and what he had promised for them all in the years to come.

**A/N: Lolz, this chapter's been a long time coming. I was once listening to Lady Gaga's "Poker Face," and after the episode of card-throwing and counting I realized that this just HAD to happen. Just goes to show that she's a frighteningly clever little beast. So far I think she's been acting too much like Bruce, or just an ordinary kid reacting to extraordinary circumstances. So in this chapter, you see that she's really got a diabolical side to her too, like Joker. And of course, she IS the daughter of two of the smartest men on the planet, so really what else could you expect?**

**One of my friends was taught Mah Jong by her grandmother and then proceeded to hustle these competitive old ladies out of hundreds of dollars, quite similar to what Gotham does here. I think that may have influenced this too. xD **

**But I think that there's one more element of this chapter that deserves special mention: Ventriloquist. I came across him in The Batman Adventures which is when he also has Froggy (usually he only has Scarface), and…really, I'm surprised that he's not as well-known as a lot of these other Batman villains. Because he's, to me, one of the more terrifying and disturbing villains. He's this guy who speaks through this little puppet that ends up really controlling him and enacting all these crimes through him, to the point that it's ambiguous as to whether the man – Arnold Wesker – owns the puppet Scarface, or whether Scarface has a mind of his own and controls Wesker. One has to constantly remind oneself that Scarface is just a puppet, and Wesker is really projecting part of his personality into the puppet. But then, some issues leave it almost supernatural-like by having Scarface commit crimes when not in Wesker's control. Kinda makes the brain turn around in circles. So really, I'd say he's *almost* right up there with Joker in terms of creepiness factor. VERY powerful villain in my eyes, wish I could see more of him around.**

**And…OMAIGAWDOMAIGAWDOMAIGAWD! Ok, Kayliana suggested I use the "Make My Baby" thing that's advertised here and use photos of Christian and Heath to predict what Gotham looks like, and I did it today and…AHHHH! It wasn't a scam like I thought it might be, it actually looks quite close to what I imagined her looking like. It even gives her the blonde hair that towards the back sort of fades into brunette. SO CUTE! I'm putting it up as my profile pic for a while if you're curious (ol' flame bird is gettin' on in its years xP) so you can see this little demonic angel. I LOVE HER! xD**


	9. Baby Steps

Always and Always

Chapter 9: Baby Steps

**A/N: I AM SOOO SORRY I haven't updated this story in like, 27 years. Well, more like four months. But there's no excuse for that, besides the shittiest school year I've ever been through. But all that aside, here's the most pathetic excuse for a chapter I've conjured up yet, to buy me some time to finish the other two chapters-in-progress still saved in my computer, and to write the next few I've got planned. Hope you enjoy its brevity (can't promise any soul or wit, however, as junior year has sucked both of those out of me permanently).**

**Fyi, this chapter is set in July after Gotham's birth, when she's about nine months old.**

* * *

Gordon couldn't understand why nothing had happened yet. The stillness was more excruciating than any scream of terror that he had been sure to happen upon tonight. But instead of fire lighting up city hall as he had feared it would, there was nothing but the invisible, heavy smoke of breathless anticipation.

This wasn't right.

"_Just one…more…stitch…should do it…"_

He had been dreading July 29th ever since he had received a warning from the Batman four nights previously, revealing that he had learned the Joker was planning _something_ that night. Where the masked man obtained his information about criminal activity was anyone's guess, and Gordon had no time for guessing. Not when people's lives were in danger, as they were bound to be whenever the Joker was concerned. The commissioner had kept his eyes and ears open, and had prepared all precautionary police forces for action at any given place or time on the night in question, even though no other details were known as to the nature of the terrorist's plan.

Paranoia had gripped the force tonight, but he certainly couldn't blame them without calling himself hypocrite.

"_You still can't be thinking of going out there tonight."_

"_No more so than you are."_

` Finally, he had received a text earlier tonight, from that same number, 1-735-185-7301. "City hall" was all it had said. And once again, Gordon had no other choice than to put his absolute faith and trust in the dark knight's words, and assemble his team around the building. A special meeting of city council had been scheduled for tonight, but all had been wisely evacuated as per the commissioner's orders.

And here they were. Surrounding city hall, lights flashing red and blue, assault rifles in shaking hands.

Waiting.

"_I'd be out there right now, you know, if you hadn't torn up my jacket last week."_

"_Well, there's more than one way to fight crime."_

Gordon looked at his phone again. The text still read "City hall"; he hadn't misread it. And that number _was_ the same number that had given him vital insight into the lunatic's intentions for the past twelve years. And the date _was_ July 29th.

And the time his phone displayed _was_ 11:37 PM.

Maybe it would come after midnight, in the first morning hours of July 30th. It seemed all the GCPD could do was wait and find out.

"_Hey, stop it, you. You DON'T put that in your mouth."_

"_She's not gonna choke on a lipstick tube. Now give it here."_

Stevens walked up beside him then. "Anything new?"

Gordon shook his head. Both men let out slow breaths of unease. For as long as they had discreetly been working with the caped vigilante, he had _never_ been wrong about the Joker's methods before. It certainly seemed that without the Batman, no one would be able to keep up with the Joker's reign of chaos.

This fact had weighed extraordinarily heavy on Gordon's mind for the past year or so. For during that time the Batman, while as infallible as ever, had seemed far more aloof in his activities. Fewer sightings were reported, fewer crimes stopped due to his efforts. Even when he would occasionally meet Gordon face-to-face at the fabled floodlight signal, he arrived later than expected, left earlier than anticipated, and rarely gave more than one word answers or noncommittal grunts in reply to all of Gordon's statements and inquiries.

Almost as if he was…distracted by something.

Gordon never asked the reason, and didn't expect it to be volunteered. But, as he deeply knew, whatever boded ill for the Batman's mind foretold the same for the rest of the city.

"_I don't see why you're being so pushy about tonight. It's been a long time coming."_

"_Joker…"_

This abrupt near-total cessation of the Batman's actions would have worried him to the point of frantic anxiety were it not for the Joker's same apparent decline in the past several months – almost a year now. They had both seemingly disappeared from the face of the city streets for nearly a month last year, around the beginning of November, maybe a bit before that. The city had held its breath just as it did now, unsettled in the face of the normalcy that loomed near.

"_True, we have her to think about, but we've got Alfred, and as a last resort Harley. She'll drool and chew on everything in sight for them just as she would for us. Let's have some fun out there tonight."_

"_Joker…look at this…"_

Both of Gotham's opposing chessmasters had returned soon enough, carrying the population with them through a winter heated with gunpowder and mind games, but still with that sporadic edge, popping back up and dimming out again just as quickly. As soon as their ongoing battle was expected by the citizens to go back to what they were shakily accustomed to…they vanished again. Called way for God knows what. And maybe not even Him.

"_Look at wha- …what…"_

"_Dear God…"_

Gordon looked up at the sudden commotion at the building's entrance. Officers were dragging someone out the double doors and down the front steps. The woman they were dragging – for it was indeed a woman – was wailing and babbling about how "she was supposed to meet him here at midnight." Her jester hat hung lopsided on her head, letting loose her blonde cascade of hair to shine on her shoulders in the pearly moonlight.

It appeared Harley Quinn had been stood up on her psychotic definition of an explosive date. But as she was taken away to Arkham again, it still didn't add up in Gordon's mind why both the Batman and the Joker were standing up _the city_ when they would normally never sacrifice their work in Gotham for anything.

Anything except the miraculous occurrence that had taken both hero and villain completely by surprise tonight, as far away in Wayne Manor, hidden from the rest of the world, Bruce and Joker watched their daughter take her first steps.


	10. Playdate

Always and Always

Chapter 10: Playdate

**A/N: Clarifiers for this fic's newest characters' origins in comics:**

**1. Selina Kyle is the Catwoman, and in Earth Two (Golden Age DCU) she reforms, marries Bruce, and has his daughter named Helena, who later grows up to become the heroine Huntress and wants her mother's Earth One counterpart to reform her criminal ways.**

**2. Talia al Ghul is the daughter of Ra's al Ghul and is this seriously badass fighter chick who is torn between loyalty to her father and attraction to Batman. In current DCU continuity she and Batman have conceived a son named Damian, who is all dark and trained in the League of Assassins but eventually becomes the fifth Robin (after his dad goes all dead/dimension-hopping and Dick Grayson takes up Batman-ing). **

**For the purposes of this fic, I've kept their existences around, albeit taken liberties with their characterizations to suit my fic's purposes. As in, I know Damian in comics is eager for his father's acceptance (although he goes about it in the entirely wrong way), but in this fic I chose to embrace his darker, League of Shadows side and have his sister Helena fill that more Bruce's-approval-seeking attitude. In the past events of this Batverse story I've created between TDK and this timeline, it fits in their characters more. This isn't comic!verse, this is Nolan/KitCat!verse. Judge however you want. :) And no, by Nolan/KitCat, I am not in any way implying that I'm shipping myself with Nolan…or am I…xD Nope, just our muses, and DEAR GOD if I could be the second parent of one of Nolan's brain-children…a storyteller can dream, I suppose.**

**Regardless, now Selina/Talia is my fourth homo pairing in this fic. Keepin' the slash alive, one pairing at a time! They've been living together for the past few years in Selina's flat in Gotham, hiding from the League of Shadows and raising their respective children of the Batman. And of course, this just BEGS for his third child to get involved, too. How shall our little Gotham figure into this? Read and find out! :D **

**P.S. I'm not basing Selina in this fic on Anne Hathaway, or even Michelle Pfeiffer – just good ol' badass SK/CW in the comics. But do what you will.**

* * *

She stared at the cell phone she had just snapped shut, wanting to believe the voicemail she had just heard wasn't the real thing. It had to be a fake; the old man had died _years_ ago in the train accident. His Lazarus pits weren't around in Gotham to save him now.

…right?

She didn't know of any in existence around here, but that wasn't to say that _he_ didn't. Maybe his loyal lackeys had fished him out of the wreckage just like Bruce had in the mountains, and he had miraculously survived somehow until the mysterious pit had worked its power on his body again. And now, according to him – or at least, the voice on her phone that had _sounded_ like her father – he was back. And he was returning to Gotham. For what reasons, she wasn't really sure she wanted to know.

She was finished with that business. Yes, the League of Shadows still operated undetected across the globe, and yes, she still was technically the acting leader while her father was in seclusion, but living off its worldly assets was the closest thing she would ever do to becoming involved with her father's organization once again.

For now, feeling Selina's sideways gaze on her from the driver's seat of the car, she actually had a reason for caring about Gotham City.

"Who was that?" Selina Kyle asked her, her astute cat-like intuition picking up on Talia's discomfort.

Talia al Ghul stared at her phone still, long and slender fingers wrapped around its edges with the poise of curious caution. It was a while before she slowly murmured, "No one," and returned the phone to her inside jacket pocket. Selina arched her right eyebrow and sidled a glance at her lover with a green-yellow iris, but Talia answered with a flick of her eyes to the two children in the backseat. Selina returned her eyes to the road, knowing that whatever it was, it would have to wait for when they were out of earshot of their respective offspring.

"When are we gonna get there?" whined Helena for the twelfth time of the trip, pressing her face against the window as she watched tree after tree pass them by.

"Oh, shut up, Helena," said her younger half-brother, Damian, who stared out the opposite window with his arms folded. He had certainly been the most reluctant of the foursome to be dragged into this journey, and he had settled for a stony silence throughout the car ride, constantly huffing dramatically in annoyance at his sister's eager and antsy mood.

Talia turned around to shoot him with a warning glare. "You had better discontinue your unsavory attitude when we arrive, which," she turned to Helena with a softer expression, "will be in about ten minutes. It's a long way from the city to the Palisades."

"Look!" the seven-year-old girl suddenly squealed as she pointed out Selina's window. The other three turned to see the impressive turrets of Wayne Manor appear in the distance, just a few hundred yards away from them. Helena's mouth hung open at the sheer immensity of her father's residence. Her daddy lived…in a _castle_. She must be a princess after all! "It's so…big…" she whispered. Damian couldn't argue with her on that one, and could only nod slightly in awe, quite taken himself with the staggering display of the mansion.

Selina and Talia glanced at the towers, and for the first time of the trip Selina felt a moment's hesitation flit through her stomach. Could she really visit Bruce after all these years, and let Helena see for herself exactly what sort of life she had been deprived of due to her own mother's shortcomings and stupid mistakes? She looked at Talia, asking silently if this really was a good idea or not. Talia took her hand on the console. They would get through this together, come what may.

Helena couldn't contain her excitement any longer. "I'm gonna see my daaaaaddy! I'm gonna see my daaaaaddy!"" she started carrying on in a singsong voice, over and over again.

Damian rolled his eyes again and stuck his fingers in his ears, screaming "Lalalalala, I can't hear you!" at the top of his lungs. Helena shrieked in annoyance and shoved her younger brother in the side, but he retaliated with a slap of his own.

"STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU!" Selina roared, for their racket certainly wasn't helping her nerves. She violently pulled the car over to the side of the road and killed the engine. The two ended their scuffle instantly at her tone of voice, still giving murderous looks to each other.

"I swear," she swiveled around to them angrily, "if you two can't behave when we get there, _no one_ is going _anywhere_ for the next ten years. Now Helena, stare out your window, and Damian, stare out yours. And keep. _Quiet._" As the car started up again, the two children obeyed with one last ruthless staredown at each other, before a disgruntled silence took over them both.

Talia was having misgivings herself as they pulled up in the driveway of the mansion, but ignored them. They were here for a _reason_, after all, and she had to just put her fears and doubts aside and let her purpose dominate over them. Her father's teachings of purging fears, while for sometimes unethical purposes, had their uses in their own right. Thus she took a deep breath to wash away her doubt and stepped out of the car, her son close behind her.

Helena held her mother's hand as they walked up the many steps to the manor, eyes so wide they seemed about to pop out of her face. Her two black pigtails swished crazily behind her as she walked, which quite reflected the bouncing feeling in her small body as she approached her father's abode. Finally, she was going to see her daddy for the first time! Now no other kids on the playground would taunt her and throw sand at her for not having a daddy, and she wouldn't get in trouble anymore for beating them up in retaliation, or for hearing two days later that her assailants had been sent to the hospital after being attacked by a stray cat.

Damian trailed behind the other three, not pleased one bit. So what that this rich guy happened to be his father? It was no concern of the man's, from what he could assume from the guy's absence from his life, so why should it be any concern of his? As far as he knew, Bruce Wayne didn't even know that he existed until last week when this visit had been arranged, and that was certainly fine with him. Now his mother was going to expect him to behave himself and be nice, which, in all truthfulness, was what he felt she should be telling his father instead. _Be nice, roll back time and be there with your son for the past six years of his life!_ Like that was possible. He had made it just fine through his first six years on the planet without having a father, and he was determined to keep it that way.

Some old guy answered the door, and as they stepped inside, all four were once again awestruck at the ornate surroundings they were suddenly thrust into. The entrance hall was enormous, and Helena was scared it would swallow her whole and send this dream into a nightmare. For all this – the expensive oak furniture, the fancy rugs on the floor that probably would have taken her years of allowance to save up for, the glowing crystal chandelier dangling above their heads – it all _had_ to be a dream. Her father…_really_ owned it all? She was dazzled beyond belief. Why, Mommy would never have to steal jewelry again with all the moneybags her daddy most certainly had stashed away somewhere! At last, Mommy would stop, and they could all live here, and everything would be just as she wildly dreamed –

"DADDY, THEY'RE HERE!" came a raucous cry from somewhere within the mansion. The visitors snapped their heads up to the young voice, two with shock, and two with simmering anger. Rapid footfalls sounded as a mystery someone raced across halls and down stairs, the rousing call of "THEY'RE HERE!" following the pounding steps everywhere they went.

Selina felt a weight in her stomach sink with dread and lurch with disgust. She had been sure she could handle this, but maybe it was turning out to be not such a good idea after all. Oh, she had heard the announcement four years ago, and it still reverberated around her skull clear as day. Her retinas blazed with every newspaper clipping and tabloid front page that she had saved in a shoebox under her bed, for no other reason than making her wound fester in her soul. So that she could remember her fresh anger, and dredge up the hurt when she almost felt like forgiving him, and turn it right back around into the vengeful spirit she needed to carry on through the years. Remember the pain. Remember it, for herself, and for Helena. And now for Talia and Damian as well. All for them.

Her righteous anger was shared by Talia, through in a much more controlled manner. She fought diligently to control her thoughts at the sound of that innocent young female voice, but something in her fought back just as diligently. But she knew she would most likely have to rein Selina in as always and be the voice of reason in this situation, so she maintained her collected composure completely. _Almost_ completely.

Bruce appeared around the corner then at the foot of a flight of stairs some distance from them. It was almost as if he were facing the four of them, but his attention was directed at the floor above him, looking up at the jubilant someone who was racing down the stairs as fast as her little legs would carry her. His eyes were aglow, and the slight smile that graced his lips made Selina's own mouth tremble slightly in rage. He shouldn't be _allowed_ to be so happy after what he had done, but here he was in all his glory, waiting for that…that _girl_ to descend before he met his guests.

Helena and Damian were momentarily snapped out of their shock from hearing the voice as they first took in the sight of their father in the flesh. Damian was thrown quite off track by just how much Bruce resembled him – or rather, how much he himself resembled Bruce. It was quite startling, really, and it just seemed to make him even more resilient about the whole trip in general. Just another weakness his father would try to exploit to get him over to _his_ side, to make him _forgive_ the guy for being a ghost to him for six years. Just perfect.

Helena, on the other hand, could barely contain the overwhelming rush of joy that overcame her the minute Bruce walked into her sight. He. Was. _Here._ There he was! Finally, the moment had come. Well, what was she waiting for? This was the whole purpose of the trip, after all, and she was just about to break into a sprint down the hall to squeal and jump into her daddy's arms –

– until another someone did just that.

Gotham plowed down the stairs and was promptly scooped up by her amused father. "Daddy, I saw them! They're here!" she babbled out in glee, as if he hadn't heard her last twenty-seven calls to him.

He laughed. "Yes, I know, I saw them too. You want to go meet them?" She nodded her head vigorously, simply brimming with delight. He grinned wider and pressed her head to his lips before walking forward down the hall to the four newcomers, clutching her in his arms.

Helena's mind was erased from its previous elation, and all other attempts at coherent thought were crushed down by the one dominating image of her daddy kissing another little girl. Only one sentence ran like lightning through her mind, blocking the progress of any others.

_That could have been her._

Bruce continued walking towards the two stricken pairs of mother and child, the fleeting edges of doubt in his gut about this meeting obliterated entirely the minute Gotham jumped into his arms. Whatever was going to happen to him here didn't matter; what mattered was that it was best for his little girl. And it obviously was, as he started tuning in to what she had been saying: "…and I'm gonna show them my games, and my stuffed animals, and my movies, and my dollhouses, and my toy racecars, and my teddy, and we're gonna play hide-and-seek, and tag, and leapfrog, and…"

She paused a heartbeat upon feeling the anger and resentment emanating from the four guests, the two elder of whom proceeded to immediately mask it with pleasant smiles that were so fake they would have fit perfectly on one of her Barbie dolls. She didn't miss the negative feelings that were being sent her way – once again for a reason she didn't understand – but an instant later her excitement broke through her temporary dam of caution, as she slid from Bruce's grasp to the floor, smiling sweetly up at the two women.

"Someone's excited," Selina intoned as amiably as she could muster at this point. She felt Helena back up a step and cling to her leg, much as Gotham was now wrapped around Bruce's calf with a lopsided grin up at her. Her hand instinctively reached to stroke through her own daughter's hair, assuring the little one that she wasn't alone in facing this unwelcome newcomer in their lives. Damian still stood behind Talia, refusing to mimic the two girls' actions of holding onto a parent.

"Oh yes," Bruce agreed half-apologetically, "she hasn't stopped talking about today for the past week." He looked down at Gotham. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself to your guests?"

She waved at them in her sloppy four-year-old manner. "Hi, I'm Gotham," she said, her blue eyes twinkling. "Who are you?"

"This is Miss Selina, and Miss Talia," Bruce told her. They eyed him with a knowing aloofness that was almost cat-like as he continued. "They're…old friends of mine." He was of course not about to take the liberty of telling the more exact truth to his daughter, that _these are the two women I slept with and apparently knocked up while I was trying to figure out my feelings about and motives for fucking your daddy._ So he decided to leave it at that.

"You have pretty names," Gotham blurted out, shocking Selina and Talia with the genuine eagerness this girl harbored to be friends with them. "But I guess it's because you're both very pretty," she reasoned, as she thus pierced the armored defenses around their hearts with her shining gaze that dripped with admiration.

Off-kilter by the unexpected compliment from the girl she had held with ire in her mind for so long, Talia finally said, "Why, thank you…Gotham." It still felt so strange to associate the name of the city she had long since been taught to destroy with this mere child, and once again was quite bewildered as to what exactly went on in her ex-beloved's head, having chosen such a name for this girl.

Gotham's focus went from the two pretty women, to the two more miniature humans at their sides. "Who are they?" she asked her daddy.

Bruce looked down to her. "They are your brother and sister, Gotham."

Damian flushed red with anger at finally being pointed out in the conversation, but even more so for being associated with this kid. This just _proved_ that his "father" was perfectly content to live without him – he'd even taken the trouble to fill his place with this little blonde brat! Now _why_ couldn't his mother and Selina _see_ that this entire visit was a complete waste of his time?

Helena had been trying to stare at the floor this entire time to hide her disappointment and brimming tears upon seeing the other little girl cling to _her_ daddy like a parasite, but found that she couldn't keep her yearning eyes from the man she'd dreamt of meeting her entire life. But now she was shut down yet again upon hearing Bruce refer to her in the conversation as _an answer to the girl's question_, and especially because…she had been referred to as, not his own little girl…

…but as an appendage of _her._

She was not Bruce Wayne's daughter here.

She was the _sister_ of Bruce Wayne's _real _daughter.

Suddenly she looked to the burning blue eyes that were frozen in untainted joy upon her face, and found herself meeting the eye contact of her apparent sister, in rebellion of her mind's decision to avoid the action as long as possible. But she was quite shocked and nearly forgot her dejection as Gotham stared at her with such surprised happiness that she couldn't help but timidly grin back at her in kind.

"_I have…a brother and a sister?"_

Bruce caressed the top of her head. "That's right, sweetie. This is your half-sister, Helena, who's seven. And he," he gestured towards the stalking figure of his newfound son, "is your half-brother, Damian, who's six." Damian still refused to meet his eyes, opting instead to sulk behind his mother, out of view.

Then, Bruce knelt down to look Gotham in the eye. "Now, I know you're only four, but just because they're older doesn't mean you have to be afraid of them. Can you be a good hostess to them for me?" She bobbed her head up and down.

"Pinky promise?"

She squeezed his pinky with her own. "Pinky promise, Daddy," she said. Helena's stomach did a sickened flip-flop upon hearing the word _Daddy_ uttered from the girl's mouth.

"Ok, now you can go play with them."

He didn't need to tell her twice. Instantly she leaped from Bruce to yank Damian and Helena forward, and ran off with them down the northern hallway, leading them by the hands and babbling nonstop about all the fun they were going to have, as they shuffled behind her in their struggle to keep up with her unpredicted burst of manic energy.

Bruce rose as he watched his three children disappear into the depths of his manor, and felt the proverbial clouds blot out the sun as the innocent and ignorant youngsters left their parents behind. All pretenses of congeniality fled in the footsteps of Gotham, Damian, and Helena Wayne, leaving the icy relations between the Batman, the Catwoman, and the Daughter of the Demon's Head to be fed to the fire of the women's onslaught of revenge.

The three adults nodded to each other, then left in a frosty silence with Alfred to sit down to lunch together. As he led them down the hall, the butler knew to make his exit as soon as possible.

xxx

"And here's the third ballroom!" Gotham squealed as she pounded nonstop through the expansive room, still having never stopped in her quest to show her new siblings each and every detail of her house. Damian and Helena, however, were getting quite out of breath, and were tripping over their feet every other step of the wild rampage through the manor. And their tiring was certainly not helping their rising envious anger of seeing room after room after room after _room_ of the affluence that their estranged father surrounded himself with and found the will to lavish upon his _chosen_ daughter, but not upon them. It was hurtful, to say the least.

But in spite of themselves and their justified anger, they couldn't help the mounting awe of the sheer vastness of this fairytale castle that they were somehow connected to – nor could they help their increasing enchantment with this creature that was darting them through the doors of her utopian playground, and just how _willing_ she was to share it with them. With her _new big brother and sister._

She was trying her best to show she loved them. For that was what siblings did. They were supposed to love each other.

And as opposed as she was to the idea, Helena was starting to warm up to the eager four-year-old who so happened to be her little sister.

They were whisked up the stairs at a breakneck pace, and rounded a sharp left turn to a door on the right side of the new hallway. "And _this_…" said Gotham, letting go of their hands and throwing the door open wide, "is _my_ room!"

Immediately they were met with the paradisiacal view of a childhood Eden. The room was quite a great deal larger than any bedroom Damian or Helena had ever known, and overflowed with the milk and honey of toys, storybooks, action figures, Barbie dolls, Disneyworld souvenirs, and board games; a plethora of videogames strewn atop a Playstation 6; stuffed animals, a five-foot two-storied castle, three dollhouses; a chest overflowing with dress-up clothes, water guns, Legos, a dormant computer; playing cards, toy horses, jump ropes, baby dolls…

"Wow," breathed Helena before she could stop herself, as Damian had barely managed to do. Gotham smiled and raced into the room, flopping on her pink and white, rose-printed bedspread and clutching her favorite teddy bear, BJ, to her chest.

"Well, don't just stand there, you sillies!" she laughed as the other two still didn't budge, mouths slightly agape. "What do you wanna play?"

Damian treaded into the toy wonderland first, followed closely by Helena, who pinched her arm just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. Her marveling daze quickly beat down her pangs of jealousy that gnawed at her young mind. She couldn't even _begin_ to answer Gotham's question, for she had never had quite this many options for playtime as she did now. In this room, the world had suddenly become the oyster of any child's imagination.

Damian eyed the Battleship box lying underneath a Spiderman action figure. "You wanna play me in this?" he asked, holding up the box. Logistics had always been his forte when it came to games.

Gotham beamed. "You're on, big brother."

xxx

The three adults were seated in a side dining hall, small enough for comfortable conversation. At least, it would have been, had the company involved more amiable and less embittered women, and had the circumstances surrounding the chat been more lighthearted. As it was, Talia and Selina had chosen to occupy one side of the table opposite Bruce, sipping their tea in a domineering silence. Bruce heaved an inward sigh as he realized he was the one being coerced into making the first move.

"I take it you had a pleasant trip up here?" he asked, unconsciously slipping a tad into his classic playboy routine of empty-headed small talk and weak attempts at smiling – something that his two companions noticed, if their even glances and coy smirks up at him were anything to go by. They were making him tread lightly, on a threadbare tightrope in his own home, and they knew it.

Selina flashed a veiled smile back at Bruce that quite resembled his own. "Oh yes, it was quite enjoyable," she replied, playing along with the charade of civilized discourse. "Well," she chuckled, "as enjoyable as it can be when you've got a brooding son and an excited daughter in the backseat." Bruce laughed lightly with her, taking the opportunity to settle the atmosphere.

"Though I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that," Talia interjected sharply, shooting down Bruce's foothold in the conversation as easily as target practice.

Selina's laughter eased away, and the sparkling mirth in her green eyes turned to glints of menace, as smoothly as a cat's. Bruce fixed his gaze on Talia's piercing stare, then to Selina's judgmental leer. Weighing all his options, he decided on the direct approach – seeing as he couldn't trust these women, anything else would lead him nowhere.

"Look," he said, resting his fingers on his own glass's rim, "I know what you're both going to say, and-"

"And what?" Selina asked. "That we're making too big a deal out of all this? That you think we're just being overemotional about what you've done?" Any traces of the previous false warmth in her face had evaporated.

"I never said-"

"No," she laughed with biting incredulity, "you didn't. You never did. You never said one, _single, wor-_"

Talia reached a hand to her lover's shoulder to restrain her, gently pushing her back to her seat that she had begun to rise from in her boiling rage. Slowly, she sat back down again, but not without issuing a death glare at the man before them.

"What Selina is trying to get at," said Talia, "is that she – that is, _we_ believe that you have a great deal of explaining to do, _beloved_." The sneer of her long-abandoned pet name for Bruce brought none of the painful daggers to his heartstrings as he had expected it to. A good sign, by all accounts.

"Oh?" he asked, nonetheless taken aback by her suggestion. "So I'm the one with the explaining to do?" He lifted his glass to his lips. "For wanting this meeting so badly, you haven't been exactly open with me about the fact that I now have three children."

"_Two_ children."

His eyes flicked to Selina's hard stare, his glass frozen an inch from his face.

She regarded him with cold vindictiveness. "_She_ isn't your real daughter."

Bruce lingered on her face for a second longer before taking a slow drink of tea, feeling the two women's eyes singeing holes through his being with every second that dripped by. Of _course_ it would come to that; he should've seen that argument plucking up sooner or later. He obviously could never let them know the truth, nor did he particularly want to. No one knew but him, Joker, and the girl herself. What he was doing in regards to the pair across from him could be viewed as spitefully selfish and cruel, but this was a battle he was not going to pursue. The sooner the issue of his biological relation to his youngest child was cleared up this afternoon, the better.

He lowered his glass, following it with his eyes, choosing his words carefully. "…I don't expect you to understand."

"Please," said Talia, "by all means, _enlighten_ us."

Bruce took a preparatory breath. He had to stick to the publicized story, and end this once and for all.

"I'm sure you heard the news," he began. "That you found my face in the tabloids." He did not miss the rage teeming in Selina's green irises, mounting to boiling point with his every syllable.

"I found her early one morning on my doorstep." _-It had been the most miserable three minutes of his life setting her outside in the bitter cold of dawn, listening to her mounting cries as he waited behind the closed door with his eyes glued to his watch; all for the sake of making her cold enough for the story to stick with Alfred.- _"I took her in." _-Finally, unable to stand the cruel separation any longer, he had settled for two and a half, and had scooped her back into his arms at an awkward angle before calling out to his butler.- _"No one claimed her." _-He had made sure to post ads online and in papers so Alfred could see them, only to take them down and withdraw them as soon as his friend wasn't looking; he couldn't risk some bargain-hunting collectors to come knocking, looking to falsely swipe away his and Joker's precious gem.- _"I adopted her, and I've" -_we've- "_ loved her as my own ever since." He fixed his blue eyes directly on Selina's green, clashing against her iron will with his. "What would you rather have had me do?"

Selina's eyes never left their ferocious edge, but for a second Bruce could've sworn he saw something break in her glare as a forgotten pain lanced through her memory.

"You could've remembered Helena before you decided to adopt the first baby the stork dropped on your porch," she murmured.

Bruce's stomach knotted. As much as he had been trying to deny it thus far, this woman had her fair share of emotional weapons in her arsenal she had accumulated over the years, and by _God_ she knew how to use them. What she was referring to was a night that, though in one light could've been one of the most significant and miraculous of his then-forty years, was also one that he had spent the last five trying to forget.

He had let Joker go that night, receiving nothing more than a deeply-meant kiss and an even deeper promise. For the man in greasepaint had had to enact his great work upon the world, for both their futures. Harley had just been cleared medically after her procedure, and of course Joker had paved her way for an easy escape before the hospital could get cold feet and betray her presence in Gotham General to the authorities. At that point, she had been successfully impregnated. Their baby was already on its way.

But one final step to the plan was needed, to make it all convincing and complete the charade for the she-harlequin. She had just released herself from the hospital after a solid week recovering from surgery, and who knows how long it had been since then that Joker had pretended to copulate with her. Thus the sudden presence of a fetus without this final, crucial step could never be sold convincingly. And if there was one thing Joker prided himself on knowing, it was how to _sell_ his jokes to their _fullest_. Even if it meant performing the one act that Bruce had hoped to never have to endure contemplating while, off in some distant warehouse district in Gotham, it was actually _taking place_.

In order to ensure Harley's sudden pregnancy worked with the timing…Joker had had to proceed with…pretending to knock up Harley.

Later, Joker had emphatically assured him that _Bruce_ hadn't been the one with the worse end of the deal – it had been all he could do to keep his levels of fantasizing under control, to deliver a sufficient ejaculation without losing his sense of place and screaming out "_BATS!"_ into Harley's ear. Not, he mused, that she would've been able to hear him, most likely, for she hadn't been exactly _coherent_ at the time…but if anything would have snapped her out of her orgasmic contortions, _that_ might've been enough to do it. Fortunately, the plan had gone down without a hitch, and the next morning Harley had rushed out of the bathroom before he'd had the chance to rise himself, giddily waving her positive pregnancy test in her hand. That night he'd been sure to drop in a visit for Batman after watching him deliver Dent and Crane to Arkham again, wishing to impart the wonderful news that "…Harley's…_pregnant_." The shared smile between the two of them at that moment was one of the rarest occurrences in the world to this day.

But Bruce was still sure that _he_ had been the worse off that night; he'd patrolled the fruitless streets worthlessly, his restlessness and agitation growing with every punk he beat up, every mob junkie he delivered to Gordon. Eventually he had called it a night, but with several hours left until daybreak it did little to calm his raw nerves. He had prowled through his manor halls minute after minute to work the tension out of his atoms, the gnawing demons of thoughts preying on his mind that that night – even if it was for their mutual benefit – his clown belonged to someone else, not to _him_, not in _his_ home, in _his_ bed, in _his_ arms, joined in body and spirit with _him, _and _him alone_, as it always _should be – _

The telephone had interrupted his storm of jealousy for the woman who had garnered little else than pity from him in years past, and when he had shakily answered it he had been surprised – and even more agitated; speaking of _betrayal_ between Bat and Clown – to hear Selina Kyle's voice on the other end.

They had quickly melted their civilized masks in the flames of quarrels past and resentments present, much as they had now. He had been about to hang up when she had chilled his blood with the single desperate sentence that had swung the ax across his neck.

"_We have a daughter."_

Several impassible seconds after, she had gone on. _"Her name is Helena. She's two years old. She's going to be three soon, come next March. She's-"_

But Bruce hadn't heard anything further. All he had known then was that the current moment counted. It _meant_ something. It was his final test.

He could have ended the deal with Joker. He could have denounced him for the misanthropic monster he was, and could have buried the cape and cowl for good to end both crusader and clown prince. At that moment, after the ten years filled with futile attempts and rejected opportunities, he had had a chance at escape.

He could have taken Selina up on what she so plainly wanted from him. What he knew _Helena_ needed from him. _His_ Helena. He could have run away with them, married Selina in a far-off, secluded Caribbean Island, and could have started a normal, patched-up family. He and Selina would have found a way to make it work; they were both so stubborn that even the greatest discrepancies in their compatibility would have been overcome in the name of their family. Helena would have had everything her heart wished for.

"Helena..."

He broke from his memories and forced Selina's eyes to return to the present as well with his voice.

"Helena…isn't a part of this."

The underlying wound he had sensed earlier in his ex's mind sealed itself over once again, staunched with her flare-up of bullwhip anger.

"She is _every_ bit a part of it as we are!" she snapped. "Why else do you think we even _arranged _this meeting?" Her knuckles were bone-white around her tea glass. Talia covered her hand with her own softly in a gentle warning, and Bruce mentally thanked fate for the pair's unexpected bout of lesbianism that had brought them to this point before him. He knew that the simple gesture on Talia's part was all that prevented Selina from unleashing the hellcat within her and pouncing across the table at him, as if perched across moonlit rooftops rather than intricate placemats.

Attempting one last time to search for what would placate the burglaress most, Bruce thought back to what he _had_ promised her over the phone, and had continued to uphold each week ever since for the past five years. "If it's money you're wanting, Selina-"

"_Do you think that's all I am?"_

Wrong thing to say.

Talia's hand was batted away before she could blink an eye.

Selina had shot up to her feet, and leaned across the table to Bruce with nails digging into the table's edge, her face an inch from his.

"_Do you? _That just because I'm _not_ a deranged, pyromaniac _psycho_ that I therefore have a _price?_ That I'm just a jewel thief who's in it for the riches? _You knew me better than that, Bruce._" Her words' meaning was not lost on the vigilante for an instant – the Joker wasn't the only one who in years past had lectured him extensively about spiritual similarities. About a hidden dark drive that urged two broken souls to chase the city shadows till the morning light, with no one to take it from them. He had been a fool to think that Selina could be _bought_, especially in this matter.

She brought her face lower a few inches, meeting his eye level instead of towering over him. "You think," she uttered, "that a child-support check every week is going to mollify that little girl's wish she makes on a star every night, to _finally_ know her daddy? That she's not going to grow up to become _every bit_ as damaged as we are, just because she has her college tuition sitting in the bank?"

She inched her voice to a near whisper, hands shaking at the table's edge as she searched in his eyes incredulously for the truth. "Do you honestly _believe_ that leaving your child _money_ is any sort of acceptable substitute for being their _parent?_"

Bruce could vocalize no answer to that. And somehow, Selina knew that Bruce Wayne was a man who certainly didn't need to. His burning blue eyes betrayed all that she needed to know.

The two leveled a slow breath through their nostrils, utter resentment brimming through them both. Selina retreated, reseating herself at Talia's side.

"Helena suffers day by day," she said quietly into the saturated air. "Moment by moment. I've seen it in our baby's eyes from day one."

At that moment, Alfred entered the room with their three salads. He certainly didn't expect any sort of acknowledgment of the lunch delivery, not with the uproar he had heard from the room earlier. And, judging from the way that Miss Kyle and Miss Head were meeting Master Wayne in one of the most harrowing staredowns he had ever witnessed, the Englishman judged it best not to tarry long.

The three didn't move after Alfred had left, until Selina broke the silence.

"She _needs_ her father, Bruce."

With that Bruce took another deep breath and counted to ten in his head. By that point the three picked up their forks and proceeded stabbing at their lunches in distaste, rolling the bitter atmosphere around their palates and wondering what their respective offspring were up to upstairs.

xxx

"F-7," said Damian triumphantly; there was no need to pretend with caution anymore.

Gotham dejectedly reached for yet _another_ red piece to skewer into her aircraft carrier. "Sunken," she muttered. She watched her big brother coolly mark his top board with a similar red piece, full to the brim with arrogance at the victory that was close at hand. Helena smirked and accepted Damian's high-five with vigor.

They had been at this for half an hour, and Gotham was getting tired of this game. Her new siblings had just sapped the fun out of any future games of Battleship she happened to play. When she played with Daddy (either one), she of course had a good time if she won, and even if she didn't win they would proceed to pick up the ships and blast them through the air, reenacting titanic Pacific battles for hours on end with the little miniature warboats. Though Bruce always ended the game after Joker said something along the lines of "then _this_ boat decides to blow _this_ one up," to which he would reply, "no, they didn't _decide_ to blow each other up," and as such would continue the strained conversation between the two before Gotham would crash all the boats into her fathers, claiming victory over Daddy Island and taking its treasures of hugs and kisses for herself.

But Damian took the game so…_seriously._ As if his ultimate stratagems were linked to a _real_ battle, and he really _was_ fighting for his life out in the ocean to either sink or be sunk. Helena, who Gotham had initially started to like more, didn't help matters – she soon grew bored of watching the game from afar and had slunk over to Damian's side, helping him with whatever move he should make next. They deliberated for _minutes_ on end, usually involving a heated coded argument between the familiar siblings, lest they give away their killer strategy, but Gotham could tell that the same brand of affection between the two was not being proffered to her as well. Rather, _any_ sort of affection would have been welcome at this point.

But all she was receiving thus far were the broad, gloating grins from the boy and girl, as they neatly cornered the location of her submarine and sank her last ship.

The two of them laughed together as they continued high-fiving each other in quick succession, until it sounded like they were clapping together with one hand each. Gotham, meanwhile, closed her board in silence, and stood up in an attempt to get their attention again – she _was_ hostess, after all. "So…what do you wanna play now?"

They looked up at her as if she were a bothersome fly that had interrupted their picnic, before turning to each other and shrugging. "Idunno," said Helena. Damian obviously wanted to play another round of Battleship, judging by his right hand that strayed to his board again.

But Gotham wasn't interested in another round, and suddenly, she was hit with inspiration about what they _could_ play. "I know!" she cried. "Since we have two girls and a boy…we can play _house!"_

Damian looked up at her in part-disgust, part-dread. He always felt silly in such make-believe games, where all was left to nothing but silly girls' interpretations of the domestic setting. "But house is _booring_," he drawled out. "It's a _girls' _game."

"No, it's not!" protested Gotham, determined to get her way against him on this one. "You can't have a house without a daddy, can you?"

"Yes, you can," Damian said quite frankly. Suddenly Gotham faltered as she realized just what she had said – and what Damian had meant. The two guests were living proof that a father figure was _not_ necessary for a child's survival in a household, an idea completely backwards from her _own_ concept of what a family required.

But Helena, in a wild childish change of heart, suddenly leapt up to Gotham's defense, if for no other reason than to prove her brother wrong on this point. "No, you do!" she said.

Damian huffed. It was clearly two against one about this, and he considered opting out and letting the girls have their fun with their silly game, while he scrounged around for a half-decent videogame on the PS6. Until, that is, he realized just what _he_ could prove by deciding to _join in_, and portray what _he_ felt the father figure should embody in a household.

"Fine," he said, "we'll play house. I'm the daddy, I guess," he jumped up – a bit too eagerly, always on the defensive to claim the title he wanted, even though both Gotham and Helena wouldn't dream of playing the male role themselves.

"Well, of course you're the daddy!" said Gotham. "And I'll be-"

"I'm the mommy!" Helena put in before her sister could finish. She grinned broadly at Damian, confident that she could successfully snag the higher role from the little four-year-old…but didn't expect to be greeted with Gotham's boggling eyes of shock.

"No, Helena," Gotham said quickly, still wanting to get across to her that she still wanted to be _friends_ with her, "that's okay. You don't have to be the mommy if you don't want to, I'll be the mommy-"

"NO!" yelled Helena. "_I_ said I'm the mommy first, so _I'm_ gonna be the mommy!" How _dare_ the little twerp try to steal the mommy position out from under her, as if trying to do her a _favor._ Puh-_leeeeze_.

Gotham was unsure about Helena's response, but decided she'd done all she could do; if Helena _really_ wanted to play the mommy that badly, she'd let her have her way as a good hostess should. "Alright," she said tentatively, "but if you want to switch anytime, just tell me."

"Whatever," said Helena – as _if._

The three quickly set to work at establishing locations – school, work, kitchen, mommy and daddy's room, baby's room, living room, etc. Soon they were ready for their first day in their make-believe house world.

Helena and Damian faked waking up slowly. Damian made sure to make himself extra-lazy, and completely detrimental to Helena's attempts to get out of their stuffed-animal bed. Gotham, being true to form, jumped out from the covers of her giant beach towel and ran over to her siblings, screaming "DADDY, DADDY!" and pouncing on top of Damian.

Damian rolled his eyes, whether in-character or out of it was difficult to say. Gotham kept shaking his side and yelling "DADDY, COME PLAY WITH ME!" to which Damian gave a terse "_No._" before falling back asleep. Invisible and nonexistent to the entire world.

Gotham was taken aback by Damian's quite un-daddy-like behavior, but what messed her up in her acting even further was the curveball _Helena_ threw her. She stood up, hand on her hip in a very pissed-off-mother fashion. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she scolded, "waking Daddy up like that. Looks like _someone_ needs a _time-out_." Without warning, she grabbed Gotham by the arm and dragged her to the corner of her bedroom. "Now you _stay there_ for the rest of the day. _I'm _going to talk with Daddy." And with that she made off for where Damian still pretended to snore lazily.

Gotham was still reeling in shock through Helena's attempts to "wake" Damian up, only to truly become irritated with him and start roughing him around, rolling him to the floor and shaking him violently to get him to snap out of it. Damian still refused. And as Gotham tiptoed over to where the two were pretending, she couldn't stop her brain from nearly overloading with this development she could barely process.

"That's not how you play house," she said quietly, not to mention very confused at her brother and sister's make-believe acts. Helena stopped shoving her brother and looked up to her.

"What are you doing out of time-out, young missy?" she snapped.

But Gotham was serious, and out-of-character. "Time out," she called. "Helena, Damian…that's not how you're supposed to play house."

"Oh yeah?" slurred Damian, finally checking out of his supposed stupor. "And how do _you_ usually play house?"

"Well…you start off with the daddy and the baby."

Damian rolled his eyes at where this was headed. "And what are they doing?" he snarled.

"They're…just playing. Then the _mommy_ comes in…" This time, to save Helena some face, _she_ acted out the part of the mommy, walking over to where Helena and Damian were still sitting on the floor. "And she asks to play too."

"And what happens then?" Helena asked, a bit confused as to how this deviated from any normal house game.

"Well, what do you _think_ happens?" Gotham asked incredulously. Upon seeing the other two's blank expressions, she sighed and grabbed Damian's hands.

And placed them around her throat.

"You bad Mommy-" she growled, imitating a more masculine voice.

Helena's face melted into shock, while Damian darted a worried glance at Helena, trying to convey to her that whatever happened next wasn't of his doing.

"You keep interrupting our playtime together-"

She took control of Damian's hands, and before he could process what was happening and wrench his arms away, Gotham started using her brother's hands to slap herself to pieces.

"You go back where you belong – doing what I _told_ you to do, you _bad Mommy!_"

She fell down and screamed in mock-pain, but it sounded just as terrifying to Helena and Damian's ears as if it were the real thing. Damian had tripped over a stuffed rabbit and had fallen down on top of her, but he instantly righted himself and joined his sister in mounting horror at the convulsions and crying that had suddenly overtaken the imagination of their younger sister.

"Stop it!" she screamed through fake sobs and tears, "please just stop! I'm-I'm sooorrry, please don't get mad at me, I won't do it again! I _promise!_ No, _sto-AHHH!"_

Damian and Helena didn't know what to do – whether to just watch her writhing in increasing panic, or to attempt to shake her out of it, or to run down and risk interrupting the adults' conversation by running to Mommies for help…or even their father at this point…

"Stop it, please, Puddin', _please!_"

And with that…she stopped. She rolled up from her position on the ground, smoothed her skirt out, and raised her gleaming eyes up to them, panting but exhilarated from her impromptu exercise.

"And then the daddy stops, and he and the baby go off somewhere else to play," she stated simply. "And _that_ is how you play house."

The other two could only stare at her with dumbfounded expressions, to the point that she wouldn't have been surprised if drool started leaking out of the corners of their mouths. At last, Helena braved the silence.

"…that's not how _I've_ ever played house before…"

Damian shook his head "me, neither," still too shocked at his hands being used for such violent purposes toward a mother figure to speak.

"Maybe…" Helena continued carefully, "…maybe we should…play something else."

Gotham shrugged nonchalantly. "If you want to, sis." Helena tensed at the child who had created such a formidable display address her as _sis_. "What do you wanna play?"

Helena's imagination was coming up blank, and Damian's brain still needed a reboot. Gotham realized she had to take the lead again. Casting about for inspiration, a purple princess dress sticking out from the overflowing toy chest caught her attention.

"I know!" she squealed, running over to it and holding it up for Helena's boggled eyes, before picking up a stray plastic sword for Damian's interest as well. "_We can play dress-up!"_

xxx

Bruce picked at his salad, suddenly remembering an old proverb to _never eat salad angry._ So much for that when he'd chosen the lunch menu for today. It only served to channel his stewing emotions as his fork stabbed through the lettuce, over and over again, decimating it to a soggy pulp.

He felt eyes on his forehead, and looked up to find Selina's green gaze fixed pointedly at him. He wouldn't deny the power that those green orbs had when they wanted to have an effect, but he knew that nothing conjured out of those nocturnal irises would ever compare to the spine-tingling, hair-raising, overpoweringly _electrifying_ sensation of when two very different green eyes, belonging to an entirely different person, met him with even a mere _glance_…

For a long tunnel in time neither Bat nor Cat left the other's eyes, staring down each other ruthlessly as their forks dangled poised in midair above the leaves of romaine. There was no avoiding this forever.

"What is it you want from me?" Bruce quietly demanded, having lost his patience on the exhaustive silence.

Selina leveled his gaze evenly, never batting an eyelash. "I think I've made that quite clear," she said with a scathing undertone.

Bruce sighed, and dropped his fork down to his plate, folded his arms, and made sure he had reaching eye contact before he replied.

"I can't take back that phone call now, Selina," he said. Selina didn't react beyond the internal turmoil he could see rising in her gut, but he had to get this out. "Gotham…is a part of my life. And that's not going to change." For a fleeting moment, he considered reaching across to grab her hand, before realizing that it would just lead to more false promises and dashed hopes, more betrayal and guilt. "I can't _be there_ for Helena as you'd like me to be." He glanced to Talia's direction, who had been eyeing him the entire time out the corner of her eye. "Or for Damian."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

Bruce faltered at her interjection, mostly due to just how…_foreboding_ the League of Shadows' leader sounded. He paused, creased his brow at her to wait for just what her tone signified.

Talia took a breath and put down her own fork. "Helena isn't the only one who needs her father. If anything, Damian needs you _more_."

"She's right," said Selina.

Bruce darted his gaze to Selina, then back to Talia. He was shocked that _Selina_, after her whole tirade about how much _her_ daughter needed him, had backed up Talia's claim. Especially when he wasn't all that convinced of it himself. "Could've surprised me," he said. "He didn't quite seem to welcome me with open arms earlier."

"That is _precisely_ what I mean," said Talia. She looked down and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Damian has…" she searched for the right words, "…always been aloof. Distant." She reached for her tea glass again. "I'm sure it has a great deal to do with the fact that he is being brought up in a household entirely of women, but given the _circumstances_ I had little other choice when he was born." She eyed him dangerously from behind the rim of her glass. "Given that his father was conveniently _absent_."

Bruce sighed as she took a drink. "You want me to get him to open up?"

"I want you to allow him the chance at having the father he doesn't realize he has been lacking. Every child needs a role model of their own gender to look up to. No matter who it is, they must find _someone_. And," she set her glass down with caution, looking back up to him, "as much as I hate to admit it, I'd rather it was you."

"That doesn't seem to matter to _him_, though," Bruce pointed out. "_He_ doesn't want it to be me." He knew, perhaps better than anyone, that a parentless child could not be forced into accepting a replacement they didn't want. There were many things that did not seem appealing to a young one in that circumstance, and that pretty much topped the list.

"_You _are his father, Bruce," Talia shot back. "And, it's…it's best he learn from your example, lacking in several areas though it may be, or…"

Bruce did not miss her stumble over the words, or the faltering of her sentence. Almost afraid to ask, he did anyway. "Or what?"

Talia fixed him a deepened stare. "…or he'll end up just like his grandfather."

Bruce's blood ran cold. It had been a thinly veiled elephant in the room whenever he met with Talia that she was the only child of his wicked mentor – indeed, the first time he had ever caught a glimpse of her was after a particularly grueling training session, when he had seen her in an unused room, drilling with a pair of swords. Ducard had told him she was their leader's daughter, and thus one of the few women allowed into the League, but he hadn't known at the time that the man telling him this was the father he had been actually referring to. Bruce still had branding memories of the megalomaniac's plot to destroy his city from the inside out in his early days as Batman, and the thought of him actually _returning_, to finish what he started…

…that was probably why he had been spurred so vehemently to track his daughter down after hearing of her arrival in Gotham years ago. Fortunately, her thoughts of city-wide annihilation seemed to be put on hold for now. But Damian…his own _son_…

Talia took a deep breath. "The blood of the Demon's Head has surfaced too strongly within him. I see it more and more each day. And I _can't_ allow that to happen."

"You reject your father that completely now?"

"Beloved," said Talia, all seriousness magnified in her aura tenfold, "there is a _reason_ I have taken such painstaking measures to conceal my location in the city. I won't deny that I still live freely off the profits of my father's League, but now," she took Selina's hand once again, who grasped it firmly, "now I have three good reasons for wanting to keep Gotham City alive and well. And I will _not_ allow our son to continue where Ra's left off." Thinking back to the car ride to the manor, and the disembodied voice that had left her a voicemail after fifteen years of presuming him dead, she tightened her grip on her lover's hand, resolve shining through her eyes. _I will not._

xxx

Damian studied his piratical reflection in Gotham's mirror approvingly. He looked justifiably intimidating for his figure, and raised his sword with a practiced arm. He had snooped around his mother's stash of weaponry multiple times, and had studied her as she secretly practiced to keep up her dormant skills. Now with this faux weapon, he felt confident that he could, if not slice someone open, leave them with a severe bruising for weeks.

Helena emerged from the walk-in closet then. "You like it, Dami?" she asked him, twirling around in the purple fairytale dress over her clothes and waving a star-tipped wand in her hand.

"Sure," he replied, not caring either way. "If you like being the lost princess that needs rescuing. _I'm_ gonna make sure that _no one_ gets in my way."

"Whatever," Helena slurred, elbowing him in the ribs as she studied their reflections side by side in the mirror. They looked at their own faces for a long time in silence – a feat quite unheard of for many siblings of their age. But then again, these two couldn't really be classified as those of _normal_ children, with a _normal_ heritage…or normal futures.

"Do you think we'll be like our mommies one day?" Helena asked her brother quietly.

Damian looked at his tricornered hat and the sword at his side. "…I hope so," he answered. He hoped so very much indeed.

Gotham watched them with a small face and an even smaller self-esteem. They were speaking of their mommies, and wanting to _be_ like them. Something she would never _dream_ of uttering was wanting to be like what _she_ defined in her young head as what a "mommy" was, which was the epitome of all undesirable traits. If there was any example in her life of what _not_ to aspire to become, it was Mommy.

But her brother and sister didn't listen to her. They came from an entirely backwards world, where daddies were either boring or nonexistent, and mommies were the heroines of the day. She had _tried_ to get their heads on straight, and make them _see_ just how perverse their opinions were, but still they continued to mock her and the system she had been born into. And now, they had given up on interacting with her and her "strange views" completely, and were downright _ignoring_ her, abandoning her with hurt and no one to play with.

In an attempt to attract their attention again, she blurted out, "Guess what _I'm_ gonna dress up as!" Really, she had no idea, but maybe their guesses would inspire something, and at least they'd start playing with her again.

But they still ignored her, preferring to use _her_ dress-up clothes for their own devices, leaving her in the dust. Damian continued to wave his fake sword around, and Helena posed in the mirror like a fairy princess.

Suddenly, it hit Gotham. She knew _just_ what to dress up as to get their attention.

"I'll be right back!" she called, racing into her bathroom. "I just need to put on my _makeup_ first!"

_That_ got their attention – particularly Helena, who raced after the little girl only to have the door slammed and locked shut a foot from her face before she could squirm inside to join the makeup party. Damian loped up beside his sister, curious as to what the blonde one was up to.

Helena rapped on the door, to no avail. "Daddy lets you have your own _makeup?_" she asked incredulously. She could believe that their daddy gave this girl this entire wonderland of toys and games to play with to her heart's content, what with the riches he possessed – but that he actually let her have her own _makeup_ to wear, when she was only _four_, while _her_ mommy and Talia wouldn't let her until she was _thirteen_…no. She had to see this for herself before she believed it.

"Well…" Gotham's voice sounded from behind the door, "…not exactly. It's…not _my_ makeup, it's my _daddy's _makeup."

Both Helena and Damian's eyes widened as they slowly turned to stare at each other.

"Our daddy doesn't wear _makeup_," Helena protested, if a bit hesitantly. She thought back to when she had first seen Bruce. Surely he hadn't been wearing…she would've _noticed_ such a thing, if a _guy_ was wearing makeup, like the mayor she saw on TV…

"No!" said Gotham with a laugh. "Not the daddy _we_ share, my _other_ daddy!"

"_What?_" asked Damian. Now the little brat was just getting ridiculous. Not only did she steal their dad away from them, but she felt the need to make up _another_ one?

"I _saaaiiiid-uh_, my _other_ daddy. Not Bruce, you sillyface, _he_ doesn't wear makeup. My other daddy, though, _he_ wears it _all the time!_ …but don't tell him I stole some of it. Or Bruce, don't tell Bruce, either. He'd be _maaad_."

"What are you talking about, you stupidhead?" Damian shouted, _really_ getting irritated at Gotham's absurd behavior. Helena gasped. He had just said…_the "s" word!_

"_Da_mian," she whispered, "don't _say_ that word!"

"You come on out and stop making things up, stupidface!" he yelled to the bathroom door. But the door didn't budge.

"Dami_aann_," Helena whined, "you're gonna get in _trouble!_"

"I don't care!"

"But you'll get _me_ in trouble!"

"Why?"

"For _letting_ you say that. _Shhh!_" She kept trying to shush her brother, but Damian wasn't having any of it, and continued to hurl his insults at the bathroom door.

"I'm _not_ making it up," proclaimed Gotham. "I have _two_ daddies, just like you have two mommies!"

"That's impossible, peabrain!" shouted Damian. "We don't _really_ have two mommies, and _no one_ can have two daddies. That's just stupid!"

"Well, _I_ do," stated Gotham pompously. "I don't have a mommy!"

"That's _not true!_" a frustrated Damian positively roared, as Helena tried to keep getting him to _shut up_ to no avail. "_Everyone_ has a mommy and a daddy. Even you!"

"Nope," said Gotham. "_She's_ not my real mommy. Daddy said she birthed me and nothing more!"

"You're just full of baloney!" Damian screamed. "Now open the door _right now!_" He was prepared to test out his theory of whether he really _could_ inflict a severe bruising with this plastic sword he carried, and this girl was just not making sense in the most aggravating way, the way she absolutely _idolized_ the idea of a daddy. Couldn't she see that daddies were just _unnecessary?_

"Okaaaayyy, I'm gonna come ooouut noooow," announced Gotham. She was now fully decked out for the surprise she had waiting for them. And oh boy, wouldn't those two big bullies be _surprised_.

"_Oooonnee…_"

"Come on out and face me! Or are you just too _chicken?_"

"_Twooooooo…_"

"Chiiiicken! Chiiiicken! Gotham's a little chiiiiicken!"

"Damian, _shut up!_"

"THREE!"

The two waited for what they were going to find – Helena to make heads or tails of what the hamburger-and-rootbeer was going on; Damian to beat the snot out of this stuck-up little twit that paraded around as his _blood relation_. But there was nothing.

They waited.

Then without warning, the door burst open, and all hell broke loose.

xxx

This was getting nowhere, and Bruce knew he had to cut things short before it got too far out of hand.

"Look, Selina, Talia," he said to their penetrating stares, "I wish I could be of more help to you both – I really do. But I can't give you what you're looking for from me. I-" he swallowed. He knew this wasn't going to be easy to say any more than it was for them to hear, but it really was the only way to go at this point. "-I didn't _expect_ to have Helena or Damian in my life, and I…I don't have any room for them now. They both seem to be getting along well enough with the two of you, so-"

"Men really _do_ have cotton balls stuffed in their ears," Selina spat in a low voice.

Bruce turned to her. "I'll double what I've been sending you so far, to take care of Damian as well. I'll triple it, even." _To take care of my guilty conscience._

"A weekly salary doesn't equal a father!" came a snarl from Talia, meditation exercises utterly abandoned as she heard the unbelievable words come from the Batman's mouth, after _all_ this time they'd spent convincing him _why_ his _real_ children needed him…

"_And a simple phone call doesn't equal a child!_" Bruce snapped. Both women were slightly taken aback by his sudden outburst; Bruce Wayne was a man who kept his cool around business hagglers and fiancée offers, who had spent this afternoon constantly worming his way around the arrows they aimed at his heart in their attempts to win him over to their side. But his protectiveness of Gotham had lent itself to his aggression as the caped crusader, and his patience was sapped bone-dry at this point. It was _his_ turn to jump to the offensive.

Nonetheless, he kept himself in check for his next words. Barely. "If the two of you were so _desperate_ to include me in our children's lives, then _why_ have I not heard from you until now?"

"I called you about Helena-"

"You called _once_," Bruce corrected, "and from what I gathered from your reaction – judging from the way _you_ hung up, not me – I thought it was done with after that. But more to the point," he rounded on Talia this time, giving her a sharp stare, "how can you blame me for not including myself in my son's life, when _I didn't even know Damian EXISTED until last week?_"

Talia, not missing a beat, jumped to her next weapon of choice. "You want to know why I didn't let you know I was still in Gotham? Or that Selina and I were living together? Or why we decided to keep your son hidden from you?" She lowered her voice and leaned in a tad closer with all the malevolence her body possessed. "Because, Bruce, we didn't think you were _ready_ to be a father."

"But apparently, _you_ thought you were," Selina broke in to back up her love's twist through the heart, "since you were _so eager_ to prove your paternal abilities while slighting us in any way possible!"

"I did what I had to do, and that's the end of it," Bruce snapped, though inside he felt a knot of tension unravel in his chest, for _now_ they were getting to what he had suspected was the _real_ issue at heart – it wasn't about the children themselves, but rather what _he_ had done against the two _mothers_. Of _course_ they jumped to the conclusion that his motives were ultimately to snub _them_, for in their eyes they were the only two people in his life who had actually _meant_ something. Gotham was just a tool to _mock_ them.

At least that assumption led them away from the _real_ reason for her birth.

Without pausing, he continued. "I didn't _ask_ to have your kids." And that was the God's honest truth, the heart of the matter to _him_. He truly _hadn't_ been expecting Helena or Damian to come along, and as such they had popped up as unexpected surprises. But with the man he _wanted_, God, _needed_ to create a child with, these two harpies couldn't understand how much he had had to _plan_, and _work_, and _pray_, and wait for a _year_ until he had the little angel in his arms as he curled up beside his soulmate in what was undoubtedly the happiest moment of both their lives. He had _needed_ Gotham's existence, and as selfish as it may seem to an outside party, these other two issues of his weren't a part of his plan that he could fit into his life.

Especially when his life was entwined so tightly around the Joker's.

"Oh," Selina scoffed, "you think _we_ asked for it either? You think this has been a walk in the park for us, to suffer the births of what you left us with?"

"_We_ weren't the ones who decided to _scorn_ another's love," Talia snapped.

"Or," added Selina as she turned an even deeper shade of scarlet in the cheeks in her fury, "are _still_ deciding to scorn their own _children_."

"_Gotham_ is my child now."

_That_ was the final fuse for Selina. She bolted up and advanced on him with the Furies' lightning crackling at her heels. "_She,_" she screamed, "_is not. Yours!_"

Bruce braced himself to grab her wrist before she could deliver her blow to his face, and Talia made to get up as well and defend Selina, but all their actions were halted in their tracks as two high-pitched shrieks of terror resounded from upstairs.

The two women snapped their heads up to the source, maternal instincts kicking in. They hadn't heard a peep from the kids this entire afternoon. Fearing the worst but hoping for the best, they stepped out into the grand hall toward the imperial staircase.

"Dami?" Talia called out to her son.

"Helena?" called Selina as well, concern hovering in her voice.

The screaming didn't stop, and only intensified. Bruce could now hear distinct sobbing in the distance, and felt his stomach sinking with dread at what had just happened. And the screams were growing louder, as their owners came closer…

Damian Head and Helena Kyle materialized from around a corner, having finally found the way through the labyrinth of hallways to the downstairs grand hall. They came barreling down the steps, and a dismayed and horrified Talia and Selina raced toward them to offer their sheltering embraces.

"Shh, calm down, Dami, what happened?" Talia asked softly, but Damian wasn't in any fit state to answer. It was all he could do to keep breathing as he bawled uncontrollably in his mother's arms, scared out of his wits. And that he was caught up in such an uncharacteristic display of terror and, well, _emotion_, worried Talia more than anything else.

Selina tried to stroke her daughter's head, wipe her tears away, kiss her forehead, hold her close to her body, but nothing seemed to be working; Helena just cried louder, and wouldn't stop as the images before her eyes played with blinding intensity of panic that she squeezed her lids shut and sobbed more than she ever had before in the short seven years of her life.

Bruce entered the hallway then, to find his two estranged children in their mothers' arms, screaming without reprieve, and upon noticing his questioning stance behind them the two women gave him looks that screamed death with their eyes.

Especially upon hearing the broken words issue from Helena's mouth: "It was…it wa-wa-…was…it was _her!_"

They scooped up their terrorized children into their arms and made for the door, yelling at him as they went. "I don't know _what_ she did to them," Talia roared, "but that little _brat_ is more trouble than she's worth!"

"You'd better put her in a shrink ward soon," Selina fumed, "before we _ever_ let our children _near_ that little witch again. _Ever again!_"

And with that Alfred watched their retreating forms down the manor steps, before closing the doors gently behind them. He turned back to Bruce. "Didn't I tell you, sir? These things have a way of working _themselves_ out."

Bruce would have laughed dryly at Alfred's comment, had he not raised suspicious blue eyes up to the third story, where he knew his "little witch," as Selina had so eloquently called her, still lurked. The billionaire was filled with clenching dread at what he had heard his son babble out as he passed by in his mother's arms.

_"It was h-h-him…she s-said-h-h-h-he was h-her DADDDDDY-"_

God, the little girl _hadn't_…

"Gotham?" he called with warning in his voice, and made his way up the stairs to locate the little devil. After he had disappeared, Alfred decided to wait and see if his intervention was required as well.

Bruce prowled up the second staircase to the third level, his impending dread mounting with every step, and with it his growing anger at the whole fiasco this afternoon had been. When he finally made it to the hall her bedroom was in, he stopped at the landing as he saw his girl's back to him, walking along slowly with a slight giggle.

"Gotham? Did you hear m-"

He couldn't continue as she turned to face him, and his fears became far too tangible and coated his insides. There before him was Gotham, in her sky blue dress and matching bow barrette in her blonde hair, a generous amount of greasepaint smeared across her face to make her look _exactly_ like the infamous clown menace.

"Hi, Daddy," she giggled – and it seemed her laughter became even _more_ similar to the Joker's when she was wearing his face as well. "Do you think they liked my makeup?" She beamed as wide as her diabolical father's Glasgow grin, sure that Bruce would laugh at her ridiculous antics and thank her for scaring the silly "guests" out of their home.

"_What do you think you're doing?_"

Her smile faded as she looked up at Bruce's livid face. Why wasn't Daddy laughing, or at least hiding a smile in his eyes as he usually did when she got up to her mischief…?

But Bruce had long since learnt to deal with _paralyzing_ _fear_ by channeling it into anger, and he unleashed it in full verbal force upon her. "_You wash that off your face RIGHT NOW. RIGHT NOW, you hear me?_"

Gotham was appalled. Didn't Daddy realize she was just having a bit of fun? Why was he being so _serious_ about this? Quickly morphing her emotions from unbidden shock to an affronted anger of her own, she drew herself to her full height of just over three feet and four inches, and loudly proclaimed, "_No!_"

But all six feet of Bruce were not in the mood for argument. "_You are going to your room, Gotham Wayne, whether you like it or not!_" he roared, and he roughly grabbed Gotham's shoulders and proceeded to struggle with her to her room. Gotham had reached her short rope's end with him, and with a eardrum-piercing shriek she kicked at Bruce's shin, clawed into his calves and knees, anywhere she could gain purchase on taking out her frustration and _hurting_ her daddy.

"_No_, I _won't_ go, Daddy, I _won't!_" she cried as hot tears of aggravation unwittingly began to stream down her face. "And _you can't make me!_" She screamed and wailed her lungs out, but Bruce, having forced full-grown men into submission with his physical prowess as Batman, was proving to be more than a match for her small form. Though it didn't stop her from fighting back with as much ferocity as she could muster, biting and kicking and scratching at Bruce's arms and legs in her attempts to wriggle free of his vicegrips on her arms.

The struggle continued for precious seconds, seconds that Bruce knew could drip away and bring Alfred up behind him before he had a chance to hide the Joker's influence on their daughter from the butler. Finally he lost patience at trying to get Gotham to cooperate, and in one fluid motion he hoisted her up over his shoulder, storming down the hall as she beat her fists on his back, kicked his chest, squirmed so violently that had it been any other man who was carrying her so she might have actually stood a chance. But there was no escaping the clutches of _the Batman_ when at her young age.

"I hate you!" she screamed into his ear, trying to make him deaf with her high shrills. "I hate you, I hate you, I hateyouhateyouhateyou_Ihateyou!_ You're the worst daddy ever, you're so mean, you _never_ let me have any fun, I hate you, _I hate you-_"

"That's wonderful, sweetie," Bruce growled over her screams as he made it to her bedroom door. "Why don't you list off all the possible ways you hate me," -he deposited her on the floor of her bedroom- "_in your room, without the paint, for the rest of the night._" He grabbed the bedroom doorknob to close it on her.

"_I HATE YOU!_" Gotham screeched through her flowing tears. "_I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!"_

Bruce paused. For a second Gotham's malicious child's spirit surged with an ungodly high as she saw some of his anger get wiped away from his face, replaced with a pale shock. She shook in her rage at him, glad that _she_ had been able to at least inflict _some_ pain upon him.

But it wasn't enough to exonerate her completely, as he slammed the door shut with more force than was necessary for the task.

He turned around and leaned against the door, feeling the inevitable vibrations against the wood as she kicked and beat the innocent door with all her might. He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to block out what he had just heard his daughter say to him.

Alfred came up beside him then, and while he (thankfully) hadn't arrived in time to view whose signature look it was that graced Gotham's face, he had certainly been within earshot to hear the unthinking and insensitive wish the girl had screamed at Bruce before he had shut the door on her.

Bruce tried to take calming breaths, but it was barely helping. First enduring the conversation with Selina and Talia, and now _this_…

"She's just a child, sir," Alfred put in gently, hoping to console him as the four-year-old's rabid cries reverberated in the background behind the closed door. "She doesn't understand what she's saying."

"But I do," Bruce said flatly, earning another kick to the door from behind him as Gotham, upon hearing his voice, realized he was still standing in front of it. "I understand _exactly_ what she's saying."

Several long seconds passed before Bruce left the doorframe and walked slowly down the hall.

"Is there anything else you'll be needing, sir?" Alfred called after him.

"No…" Bruce mumbled distractedly. "I'll…be in my room…"

But Alfred could clearly see that he was heading in the opposite direction of his room. His path, however, was leading him to turn into the piano room. To the entrance to the Batcave. The butler sighed crisply. As the years went by, he had begun to notice with increasing frequency that when Bruce mentioned he was going "to his room," what he really meant was "to the cave." Honestly, there wasn't much difference anymore, what with the copious amounts of time he spent in his underground headquarters that was more a home to him than his parents' mansion aboveground could ever be. Even when his precious princess lived in the mansion with him.

Resolve in his step, Alfred set off to the kitchen to prepare a bowl of the little girl's favorite Mac 'n' Cheese, in hopes of at least placating her enough to give Bruce a chance when he came to talk to her later that night, as he was inevitably bound to do.

xxx

Bruce paused at the door. Selina and Talia had had his children, he had ended up _scaring them away_ for good, his own child wished him dead, and to top it all off Joker _still_ hadn't returned for a visit, indicating that he was absorbed in yet another brutal mission to destroy the spirits of his city. Bruce had an exhilarating feeling that he'd discover just what it was tonight, and what lay in store for him after this was a long, endless night of scrambling to minimize the maniac's damage while chasing him all over the city in their endless cat-and-mouse game they could never shy away from. But at least he could _trust_ the Joker on that front, that he would _never_ abandon him for the world. It was a small comfort at first glance, but was turning into a far greater one as the years wore on. At least he would never be alone in the world with the clown to oppose.

But he wasn't prepared to spend his life with his _daughter_ to oppose, and as such he had better not let this issue ferment inside the manor walls forever. Best to resolve his spats with her while he still could. So before embracing the role of Batman tonight with the hopes of embracing his Joker in multiple meanings of the phrase, he slowly turned the doorknob into his daughter's room, to patch up his familial relations as best he could.

Besides, she _needed_ this talk, before it was too late.

Lightning streaked across her window from the heavy-set storm as Bruce sidled into Gotham's bedroom, sidestepping the dilapidated mess she had left strewn about the wood floor from her temper tantrum earlier. He had heard the screams going on for at least a good hour and a half, including many a word that he didn't even realize she had been _exposed_ to yet. He'd have to make a mental note to ask Joker about that, and who exactly it was that she was kept around when away with him.

The girl was sitting on her bed, staring out the rain-streaked window panes, sulking with her arms crossed in front of her. Her face was still slightly red from her crying and screaming fit earlier, and perhaps from rubbing the makeup off her face. But at least she had taken it off, before Alfred had entered to bring her the bowl of macaroni.

A bowl of macaroni that now lay on its tray to the side, with BJ the teddy bear dunked headfirst into the cheesy mess, two and a half of its limbs missing with stuffing popping out in gashes and holes through its entire body.

Bruce brushed away thoughts of _sadism_ in his mind, trying to replace the word _torture_ with _tantrum_, and carefully rescued BJ from drowning in pasta. He sat down on the bed beside Gotham, who refused to acknowledge his presence as he softly brushed the stray noodles off the broken teddy. "He looks like he hasn't had a good day," he said softly, depositing macaroni bits back into the bowl of the half-eaten stuff. Gotham didn't move, but he could feel her downcast expression sink further.

"I bet we can fix him, though," he offered, as he picked up the bear's stray leg and held it up to the corresponding socket. "He'll be good as new, if you want." But Gotham still didn't budge. He sighed. "Or not, he can go in the trash if you'd like…"

"No!" she cried in alarm, turning to face him before realizing she had taken the bait. He met her eyes identical to his, and in resentment and confusion she grabbed the broken BJ from him, focusing her attention on the bear instead of her father.

Bruce decided that now was the time to act. "You were punished today, Gotham," he said, waiting to let his words sink in for her. After a bit more stony silence from her, he continued. "Do you know why you were punished?"

She stared at BJ for a while, not wanting to give in and enter a mature conversation with him, and admit she was wrong. But eventually, she mumbled out, "…because I scared away my guests."

"That's right," said Bruce. He took a breath. At least she knew it was wrong. "What did I tell you when they first got here?"

She hugged BJ tighter, refusing to respond.

"Gotham?" he prompted sternly again. "Do you remember what I told you to do? You pinky-promised to do it."

She slumped against the wall, clutching BJ close to her chest. "…to…"

"To what?"

"…to be…a good hostess…"

"That's right," he said. "And you weren't. Good hostesses don't scare their guests away with mean tricks like that."

"But they were mean to me first!" she suddenly protested, her indignant blue eyes pleading up at his. "I just…I just wanted to be their _friend_, and be a good _sister_, but they wouldn't play fair with me, or play what I wanted to play, or play nice like I wanted them to, or-"

"It doesn't matter, Gotham," he cut across her. She faltered and closed her mouth in disbelief. Another thunderclap cracked the air. "You don't always get to play the way you want to play. You have to let others have their way sometimes."

"But Daddy," she whined, "they were _mean_ to me. Why should I be nice to them back if they were mean first?"

"Sometimes, sweetheart," he said, trying to piece together what he meant as best he knew how, "sometimes…we have to show compassion to people who wouldn't show the same to us. Sometimes we have to be nice when no one else is, even if everyone else is mean. Even if everyone else goes along with the mean people, and no one stands with you." He tilted her chin for her eyes to meet his. "Showing compassion when no one else does isn't a weakness, Gotham – you'll find it's one of the greatest strengths we can possess."

She looked up at him, not wanting to accept his words. "But…that's so much _harder_, Daddy…"

"I know," Bruce said. "I know it's hard. But sometimes it's all we can do."

She watched him for a second longer, then sat back against the wall again. BJ's head lolled on her shoulder as she breathed deeply for a moment in silence, mentally digesting her father's words. Bruce let her do it, while trying to put together the far more important issue at hand that he had to clear up next, and _had_ to resolve _tonight_.

"Gotham," he said, indicating he wasn't finished with their talk yet, and she perked up her ears, though she continued to stare at her reflection in the blank TV screen across the room. "That was why you were punished today, but that wasn't why I got so angry with you."

She looked up at him, surprised. "…then…why _were_ you so angry?"

Bruce let his gaze slip away from hers, staring at a particular rose pattern on her bedspread. "Because I was afraid."

Gotham knitted her brow in confusion at the completely unexpected response. There were certain truths she could cling to in her fragile existence, and one of the most central among them was that _Daddy doesn't get scared_. Bruce was the one to shield her from her nightmares, Joker was the one to laugh away her fear of the dark, and they were both the ones to hold her after fetching her out of a tree she had climbed too high in and had gotten stuck in, murmuring to her that she was safe again. The quiet admission from Bruce, her _strong and fearless daddy_, was perhaps one of the most frightening things she had heard yet.

"…why were you…afraid?"

Bruce still didn't meet her eyes, trying to figure out how to worm the truth from her and assuage his still-present fears. "Because…of _how_ you chose to scare them away," he finally said, which sent her into even more confusion.

Suddenly Bruce looked back up to her, an urgent light in his eyes. "What _exactly_ did you tell them? About the makeup?"

She wasn't sure why it was so important, but if Daddy had been afraid, then it must be so. She moved her eyes up to the ceiling in her effort to remember. "Well…"

"Think, Gotham," he urged.

"I…wanted to get them to play with me again, so I told them I was going to play dress-up, and put on makeup. So I locked myself in the bathroom to put it on."

"And then?"

"They thought it was _my_ makeup, but I told them it wasn't mine, but it was my daddy's." She faltered as she realized that she had just admitted to her act of theft. "…yeah…I stole some of Daddy's makeup…and hid it…"

"I realize that," Bruce said with a wry grin, which encouraged her a little – she wasn't in trouble for _that_, at least.

"Then they thought that I meant _you_, and that _you_ wore makeup," she giggled. Bruce didn't laugh this time, too apprehensive of what happened next. Upon realizing that it wasn't funny anymore, the girl stopped her laughter and continued on.

"But I told them that that was wrong too. And that it wasn't _our_ daddy, but my other…daddy…"

She trailed off upon seeing Bruce's eyes grow wide in his face as he stared at the wall.

"…and…they said I couldn't have two daddies, but…I told them I _did_…"

"And then you _jumped out?_" Bruce asked wearily. "With all that makeup on? Exactly as I found you in the hall?"

"Yes…but-"

"Did you mention Joker's name?" Bruce suddenly snapped his eyes to her. She was startled, but shook her head no. "Did you ever say who your other daddy was?"

"Um…no, but I told them it was my daddy's makeup, and then-"

"_Gotham,_" Bruce took his daughter by the shoulders, holding her firmly at arm's length. "_Did you ever tell them that the Joker is your father?_"

Her eyes were bulging in fear. "….no…" she squeaked, and when Bruce released her shoulders she was shaking in terror and alarm.

Bruce took a few deep breaths. At least it wasn't as bad as he had thought. But his fears were all _but_ cast aside. He had heard Damian's words, and had seen the two children's panic attacks. And he _knew_ that they knew who the Joker was, and would instantly recognize the garish greasepaint when they saw it…would they guess…_could_ they, even…?

"…Daddy…?"

He looked up at the source of the meek little voice. She was brimming with trepidation, and he knew it was because _he_ didn't look a right sight better himself.

"…is it…bad that I told them? That I have two daddies?"

He sighed deeply, then changed his position to sit cross-legged on the bed, completely facing her. "Gotham," he began, "do you notice how, when you're here in Wayne Manor, how Joker always keeps out of sight when Alfred's nearby? And how Alfred never sees the three of us together?" She nodded cautiously. "And how when you're out in the city, with Joker and Harley, how I'm never there?" She nodded again, still not sure what he meant.

"Well…there's a reason for that, sweetie."

She was growing more perplexed and nervous by the second. "Why?" she asked.

He held his forehead in his hand, held up with an elbow resting on his knee. "Gotham, there's something you should understand about Daddy and me." His lips squirmed nervously, but he continued on as he raised his eyes to hers. "About Joker and Batman. Joker…lots of people know who Joker is. And lots of people know who Batman is. They don't know that he's me, but they know he's out there.

"And…Joker…he does things…that not everyone agrees with. There are lots of people who don't like Joker. Lots of people who…hate him. There are lots of people out there who…would want to hurt Joker, if they got the chance."

Her face was withering into further and further states of horrified nausea, but he had to let her hear this – lest this same mistake be made again.

"And the same holds true for Batman. Lots of people don't agree with what Batman does. There are lots of people who hate Batman, and would want to hurt him, too. And…there's just as many people who hate both Batman _and_ Joker, and would…make them go away for good if they could."

He could see the tears brimming in her eyes, and he felt two fingers pinch his heart as he saw the first of them fall, and he wished that he had gotten through the worst of it. But he hadn't.

"And…if anyone were to ever know…that you were Batman's child, or Joker's child, or _both_ Batman _and_ Joker's child…"

She bit back a surging sob, but another one snuck past her throat before she could fight it off.

"…they'd want to hurt you, too. They'd-"

He could barely bring himself to continue. But his resolve as Batman won out, and he pressed on past the horrible imaginings he'd woken up after, shaking and sweating in his nightmares of what some men would do if they found out the truth about his little girl...

"That's why I'm afraid. That's why Joker and I have kept your parentage a secret from everyone else in the world. Even Alfred."

Thunder rolled in the distance. She couldn't hold her sobs back anymore, and started shaking in her tears, starting to fall into Bruce's lap so he could hold her. But he grasped her firmly, for he had to impress upon her just _how_ _seriously_ he _meant_ this.

"Gotham, look at me," he said sternly. She obeyed, salty tears raining from her eyes. His voice was a razor-solemn whisper as he spoke against the dull roar of the storm.

"I'm only going to tell you this once in your life, Gotham Wayne, and _so help me God_ if I have to tell you again. When you're here, in Wayne Manor, you are _not_ my real daughter. You were born to unknown parents who dropped you off here to give you a better life. I found you on my doorstep the night you were born. I adopted you as my own, and Alfred and I have been raising you ever since. Your name is Gotham Wayne, and you have _nothing_ to do with Batman, and _absolutely nothing_ to do with the Joker.

"Now, when you're with Joker and Harley, in whatever place in the city they decide to stay, your name is just Gotham. You are Joker _and_ Harley's daughter, and they raise you however they see fit. Besides any ties the Joker makes known to the world about him, you have _nothing_ to do with the Batman, and _you have never even heard of Bruce Wayne_.

"Do you understand me?"

Gotham was shaking and silently crying as another bolt of lightning split the sky, as she silently _begged_ her father that _this can't be true, it ISN'T, _but Bruce had never looked at her or spoken to her in a more serious manner in her life.

"_Do you understand me, Gotham?_"

She didn't recognize the man who was holding her so firmly, the man who was boring holes into her life with his iron words and incinerating blue eyes. Neither of them realized it at the time, but _this_ was the first time she had _really_ seen the Batman.

"Yes!" she squeaked in high-pitched terror, and the spell over them both was broken. Bruce's eyes softened instantly, and his hold on her did as well, as he brought his crying daughter into his arms completely to hold her close against the echoing thunder of an unforgiving reality outside her bedroom window.

He couldn't really understand what she was saying, between her sobs and the fact that all her words were spoken into his shirt, but he figured she just needed to let it all out. "Shhhh," he shushed her, resting his chin on top of her head as he ran his hand through her hair. "It's alright, it'll all be okay."

"Are-" she choked out to where he could actually understand her, "-a-a-are D-Dam-mian and H-H-H-elena going to h-h-hurt me?"

"No, no, no, no," he whispered. "No, they're not going to hurt you. No, they're not. No one's going to hurt you." He kissed her head. "Not while Daddy and I are around."

He rocked her in his arms for a few minutes, letting her sobs subside, before whispering in her ear, "Besides, I don't think you'll have to worry about Damian and Helena for a while now. We won't be seeing them anytime soon."

She took a shaky breath of an attempted chuckle. "Will we ever?"

"I highly doubt that, princess," he reassured her, and she cuddled into a ball in his arms, getting her breath back under control. She was safe now, in Daddy's arms, and the security her father gave her was soothing in its own right.

Her sobs started up anew, and he tilted his head back down to hers. "What?" he asked.

"…Daddy…I didn't…BJ…I didn't mean to-"

"Hey," he said, "don't worry about BJ. Tell you what, I'll fix him up tonight for you. He'll be good as new in the morning."

"Promise, Daddy?"

"Pinky-promise."

She looped her pinky around his, squeezing to it tightly. The rain sent its lulling rhythm against the window's glass as she laid her head on his chest again.

"And I think BJ forgives you."

She looked up to him. "Really? After what I did?"

He nodded, and that warm smile of his that had become a more common occurrence in the past four years mimicked itself onto her face as well.

Bruce patted her shoulder. "I think it's time you went to bed, don't you think? You've had a long day." She nodded, already having changed into her white nightgown. "Did you brush your teeth?" She hid a small smile before slyly shaking her head no. He hoisted her up out of bed and she toddled over to her bathroom.

By the time she was finished with her teeth, Bruce had located the other missing arm and ear of BJ's that had been chucked across the room, and he leaned in the doorway as she spat into the sink.

"Gotham?"

She looked up at him as she put her toothbrush away.

"Give me the paints."

Her spirit sank slightly. Busted. She had been hoping that Bruce would forget that little detail, so she could try to do a better job in the mirror at home, when it was just her. What harm could it possibly do if she just painted her face for _herself_, and didn't show anyone el-

"Gotham?"

She sighed with a grin, and reluctantly delved to the back of a cabinet for the three different-colored tubes of greasepaint. He held out his hand, and she placed them in the proffered palm.

She started to close the cabinet, but Bruce still held out his hand with an expectant look in his eyes. Heaving another sigh, she took the three other tubes and surrendered them as well. He smirked at her stubborn streak that, even after their chilling conversation earlier, still persisted in his girl. She certainly was his and Joker's daughter.

Gotham crawled into bed, and he tucked her into her rosy blankets. She held out her arms for BJ, as she always did, only to realize that he had to undergo surgery tonight because of her actions.

"I always sleep with BJ…" she said timidly, dreading the night to come that involved braving the storm and her new harsh reality without the promise of her teddy bear companion for comfort.

"Well," said Bruce, "you'll have to sleep without him tonight while BJ gets better. But you're a brave girl, you can do that, can't you?"

She nodded sleepily, not even flinching at the raucous boom of thunder that pounded through the air. He brushed a lock of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Something still bothered her, though, and he couldn't quite place what.

"Daddy?"

He stroked her face. "Yes?"

"…I don't wish you dead."

He tried not to let the high level of relief he felt upon hearing those words shine through to its fullest, but he couldn't help the subconscious reaction as a broad grin spread over his face. "I know," he said. "I know. I never thought you did, not for an instant."

He leaned in and kissed her face gently, and when he pulled away and stood up her eyes were serenely closed, ready for a hard-earned sleep that not even the worst of fears could keep her from.

Bruce lingered for a long while, knowing that his night out in the storm was pending and the city was calling out for his presence, and that Joker was probably waiting out there in the rain for him right now, wondering where the hell was his Batsykins; but, as all parents do at one point, he chose to savor this moment of his and Joker's little treasure, _his_ angel, curled up on the verge of docile slumber. It was his time to take a mental snapshot of his child, to look back on when she grew older, and made her own mistakes, and found her own joys, and defeated her own demons to forge her own life for herself. He would always remember this moment, and he would be the one to carry in his mind where she came from, and who she would always be in his heart.

He flicked the light switch and turned to go, out to chase down his own demons, when he heard a small "…Daddy?" from behind him. He turned back to Gotham's half-lidded blue eyes, peeping out at him in the sliver of light from the hallway that shone out from the partly-opened door.

"Yes, Gotham?"

"I love you."

Bruce felt his heart echo with his response a thousand times over as he smiled. "I love you, too."

She closed her eyes again, and he softly closed the door, pausing for just an instant longer as he looked at the torn-up BJ in his hand, before making his way down the hall to his cave, his armor, and his city.

* * *

**A/N: So…you wanted some Bruce and Gotham bonding time, YaoiBatman? Well, there ya go. Hope I delivered well enough :) And there's plenty more where that came from, don't you worry. A lot of which involves Gotham's time with BOTH Bruce and Joker, because the three of them together just makes me ridiculously happy. And besides – the three of them **_**complete**_** each other! :D**

**But let this chapter be a warning to all you dear children: **_**this **_**is why you don't go around philandering with other criminally beautiful babes when the clown prince love of your life is waiting for you with open arms. Silly Bruce, just can't stop hurting people wherever he goes, even little children whose only crime was their parents' mistakes. **

…**but don't go feeling too bad for these two if you still love our Gotham. Just sayin'.** **Her brother and sister have a substantial part to play yet, much later in her life. Then there's the bit about the Four of Clovers too, which I hope you all haven't forgotten. You will see…oh yes, you will see… *ends creepy Gollum impersonation***

**Sorry if you may have been put off in any way with how I handled Bruce's past with Selina or Talia and any lingering regrets about such failed relationships, but here's my philosophy: I'm not going to discount the canon pairings any more than I will canon characterizations. Unlike the sentiment that's held by many of my fellow slash authors, I won't have a problem with a pairing JUST because it's het. I believe that there's significant Bruce/Selina or Bruce/Talia POTENTIAL in comics. It's just, in whatever verse you're in, the Bruce/Joker potential just outweighs both so exponentially that there's next to nil chance of the other two pairings ever working. Sorry, ladies. Hey, that's what you've got each other for! xD**

**And hey, I know I haven't been keeping up with this fic NEARLY as much as I should – I started writing this chapter LAST JULY, FOR CHRISSAKES, before I got the news later that day that my grandma died, which understandably jolted me out of the fluffy-fic department for quite some time. BUT, this story is far from forgotten, and will be continued with to the very bitter end, I promise you. There's another half-written chapter on my computer a-waitin' its turn as we speak, so that'll show up as Chapter 11 soon, too. Then there are plenty of more ideas I've got for more chapters. And hopefully, soon we'll have an actual PLOT in the works! :D**

**Also, you may have noticed, but this fic, in taking place 10+ years after TDK, is set very far in the future. Gotham's actual birthdate is October 28, 2019. This chap took place in 2023. IT'S DA FUTURE. Which is why they have PS6s, and also why you may notice that it contains a much older Batman and Joker than those we saw in TDK, who are more comfortably and steeply-set in their roles as symbols/forces of nature. And, well, they're middle-aged now. xP When Gotham was born, Bruce was 41 (he actually turns 30 in BB if you'll notice in the background of the party-planning scene, and six months after that he'd still be 30 in TDK), and Joker was 39. Yup, they're OLD. XD But still just as awesome.**

**Oh, one more thing: one of my readers, "Forever Reading aka Meg", asked in a review for my fic "Fragile: Handle with Care" if I'll ever cover the 11 years' time before Gotham was born and why Bruce doesn't stop Joker from becoming the mass-murdering terrorist that he's known for. I'm so sorry it's taken this long for me to get back to you on this, Meg, but I figured it's worth answering in an author's note instead of a simple review reply, so everyone can know the answer:**

**This fic's Chapter 4 – Gotham's birth – takes place a year after my fic "Tense," which was written originally for pure fluff's sake, and was later incorporated into this storyline, for when you figure in nine months of Harley's pregnancy, then add a couple months onto that to allow for Mr. Freeze's dabbling in science to create Gotham's embryo, it equates to roughly a year between B and J's **_**decision**_** to have a kid and them actually **_**having**_** said kid. And THAT fic took place ten years after the events of The Dark Knight. That was a decision on my part purely to give myself and the readers ten years' worth of implied relationship-building between Batman and Joker to bring them from TDK to that point, where they can actually love each other and accept that fact (cuz they CERTAINLY ain't anywhere near that point where we last left them in TDK). It **_**was**_** a generic ambiguous storyline at that point, but lately I've had it germinating in my head quite a great deal. So I'll just say this: AFTER I finish this story, I'm writing "A Strange World", which serves pretty much as a bridge between this fic and TDK, and chronicles exactly HOW the Batman and the Joker fell into hate/love and added love and sex to the equation. AND it will also introduce Harley, Ivy, Selina, Talia, Riddler, Freeze, etc. and tell the story of how the other three pairings in this fic (Ivy/Harley, Harvey/Crane, Selina/Talia) came to be. But the story primarily focuses on Batman/Joker, obviously, because they are my OTP. It's gonna be my ultimate B/J magnum opus, and it will be uber-difficult, but oh-so-much-fun. Just hope I can do them justice. :D**

**If you're still reading this fic, Meg, hope that answers your question. :) Oh, and why Batman can't stop Joker from being a psychotic homicidal maniac? Because that's who the Joker is, and always will be. No one, not even Batman, can stop that. Can't change our favorite psycho-clown's inherent nature, now can we? ;)**

**I'll shut up now, have a good one, y'all. Thanks for sticking with me so far between my inexcusable lapses in posting (and equally inexcusably long author's notes). It seriously means so much to me. I love you all :)**


	11. One Rule

Always and Always

Chapter 11: One Rule

It had been a crazy idea. But then again, it concerned the party of three's youngest member, whose entire _existence_ revolved around a crazy idea dreamed up by two men whose sanity was questionable at best, so what was or wasn't justifiable for them could not be discerned by any sort of fine line. Perhaps it was what was best for them: give her (and all three of them, for that matter) a taste of normalcy, let them all play pretend for a while, and who would be any the wiser?

She had been _begging_ to for weeks, and had wondered to herself as long as she could remember why they did not partake in such activities together as did her peers at school. With no simple answer forthcoming, Joker had realized it wasn't that bad of an idea, after all. Who would know? They had become so accustomed to shrouding their lives in secrets that nothing would ever bring anyone to suspect that the family in their midst was in fact the mover-and-shaker trio of the present and the future.

Besides, it would be in the girl's best interests to experience what the rest of the world was really like, and what human beings really were. Bruce agreed, though both knew at the back of their minds that they had very different ideas about what they wanted their daughter to learn from the night. In the end, however, they had come to the consensus to leave that all behind tonight, and focus on just letting the five-year-old see the world through her own eyes, and judge for herself.

And so the Batman, the Joker, and their prized jewel, Gotham, went out to a late eight o'clock dinner at a McDonald's.

No one screamed in terror or called the police when they ordered their Big Macs and Happy Meal, which was a good sign. No other children fearfully shrank away from Gotham when she decided to play in the giant play place; on the contrary, they quite welcomed her jubilant enthusiasm to play tag. And perhaps the only tentative glances the two men received from the mothers throughout the restaurant were due to the suspicion that they were same-sex parents. But no one commented, for if they truly weren't and were perhaps friends or relatives, or even just babysitters, no attention wanted to be drawn to a false accuser.

(Although perhaps out of the sheer hilarity of watching Bruce struggle to ignore it, Joker did manage to slink the toe of his shoe up the other's pant leg an inch for a good ten minutes – but was later surprised to feel Bruce return the gesture for a flash. It might have been intended as a kick, but that grin on the incognito billionaire's face told him quite satisfactorily otherwise.)

So the two gods of Gotham and the junior deity-to-be adopted the falsehood of a semi-average family, and by the time they left, well after nine, all three agreed they had thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Indeed, perhaps they shouldn't end their outing quite yet, and they opted to show Gotham the sights of the city at night – their hunting ground, her true inheritance.

But something was off in the way they walked through the maze of city streets and broken pavement. Gotham skipped happily between her daddies, still clutching her Happy Meal Barbie toy in her hand, gazing round-eyed at the beautiful lights and skyscrapers, reveling in the freedom of the night air, perfectly innocent. Joker was careful to disguise his laugh as he watched her antics, the latex and makeup that hid his scars stretching on his unpainted face, walking to her left in normal civilian clothes and golden hair as he absently hummed "Put a Smile On," feeling immortal and on top of the world.

But Bruce, unable to escape the sense of vigilance that the darkening sky always seemed to force upon him, was starting to feel paranoid. Yes, paranoid, as much as he hated to admit it, but he couldn't find any other word that fit. For the life of him he couldn't figure out why; this was _his_ city, the place he knew by heart, by sight, by breath, by _feel_. The place he had spent nearly every night for the past sixteen years, smashing criminals and (when not distracted by fucking clowns) dispensing justice. But a faint dissonance was crackling at the edges of his awareness, and his battle senses were tensing inside him, ready to react if called upon. He walked upright and careful, watching the movements of the other two in detail, stepping dark and full of purpose on his daughter's right.

_ …why couldn't he figure this out?_

Static was charging in the air, but it was quite clear that he was the only one of the three who felt it; Gotham skipped on as carelessly as ever, but Joker was the one he was most surprised at: he was lost in humming what seemed to be his new theme song, watching Gotham with the most amused of expressions, _completely separated_ from Bruce's senses. It seemed so strange to Bruce, not having the man as tuned in to any sort of abnormal feeling of his; he supposed he took their status as soul mates for granted so often that whenever they weren't joined on the same wavelength, he felt quite akin to empty.

And he knew that Joker's state of oblivion meant that _something_ was wrong.

He was about to open his mouth to mention something, perhaps to wake Joker up to the foreboding that he surely wasn't alone in feeling…when his eyes suddenly fell on what was making him so anxious, and why he was the only one feeling it.

They were walking right past the opera house.

His heart leapt into his throat, and his blood turned to ice as he realized just what this meant for him. This wasn't just any sort of unidentified feeling. It was a _familiar_ feeling. He was walking past the opera house at night with his family. With the two people he cared about more than anything in the world. With two people who were completely unaware of any harm that might come their way.

This wasn't just static in the air.

…this was déjà vu.

"J-" he caught himself just in time to avoid addressing his partner by his true name – such an utterance would be sure to perk up the ears of the buildings' shadows and invite the darkness to converge on their presence. But the short consonant was enough to catch Joker's attention, as he turned with raised eyebrows while still continuing the "everybody come on" refrain in his throat.

"We should go," Bruce said in a hushed voice, his eyes flicking to the opera house that forced its magnitude upon him with every passing second. Joker's brow fell, knitting in confusion.

Gotham looked up at him. "Why, Daddy? I wanna walk around more!" Her mini-Barbie swung around absently by its one arm clutched in her hand.

"We've walked around enough. Now come on-"

"What's gotten into _you_, lamb chop?" Joker interrupted him. "We're still in _Gantry_. It's only the _theatre district_, it's not like we're going to South Hinkley, or the _Narrows_, Bat for_bid_…"

"Would you shut up?" Bruce snapped at the mention of the mockingly-intoned idol that so happened to be his usual alias around this hour. A tremor pricked him, not from the usual reason people flinched at the mention of _bats_ on the streets at night, but from the memories sifting through the back of his vision, teeming with acrobats in black horns, trumpets descending through a G minor scale, Mefistofele belting out "_Ascolta!_" when Bruce wanted to beg the same thing of Joker, to _listen_, just_ listen for a minute, can't you hear what's in the air of OUR CITY RIGHT NOW – _

"You'll have plenty of time to catch up on your soaps later," Joker chided with a cheeky wink, and with two dismissive pats to Bruce's cheek he took Gotham's hand and continued on their way.

Bruce couldn't take the strangling presentiment much longer; he grabbed Joker's bicep and whirled him back around. He was not going to take one _step_ further away from their car sixteen blocks behind them. "We're going _home_, Joker," he hissed an inch from the man's face, praying no one was around to hear that dreadful supplication to the city's Lord of Misrule, never spoken in the dark of night by anyone who knew what was good for them.

"Now, now, no need to be so antagon_is_tic, dear," Joker lightly brushed the grip off his arm. "I honestly don't know _what_ you're so anxious to get back home to; it can't be _soooo_ important it can't wait a few-"

"Then why don't you _look around_, and _tell_ me?" Bruce gritted out. Surely if Joker stopped to pay attention to it, he would notice it too, he _had_ to…

Joker slid his head to the left, lingered for three seconds, then whiplashed around to his right for another three before turning back to face Bruce. He smiled. "Oh look. _Lightning didn't strike us down._"

"Jay…"

"There's no one else on the streets besides _us_…"

"_Jay_…"

"_And,_" a single finger normally clad in purple leather pressed to Bruce's lips, "I don't see any Italian restaurants in sight!" His hand slid down to tweak Bruce's chin as he breathed a latex-puckering smirk. "We are _fine_."

"That's not what I'm-"

"Alright, alright. You have a valid point; there _is _the possibility of those two freaks pouncing down on us poor saps at _any_ given moment, those…whatchamacallims? That _Bat-Man,_ or even worse, that clown bloke, the _Joker_…" he paused as if in thought, then made a show of lighting up with a pretend-epiphany. "Oh, _wait_." He grinned devilishly. "Come along, _Gotham_," he drawled out their daughter's exceptional name, intending to lead the way forward again.

"_Joker_," Bruce growled lowly, just as hushed and twice as urgent as before. "I'm _serious_ about this."

"Well, that's _your_ problem, sweets. I've always told you if you'd just re_lax_ your outlook a bit-"

Bruce grabbed Gotham's other hand assertively; now was _not_ the time for an argument about his life's philosophy when this electric current in the air was pressing in on him from all directions, kicking in his fight-or-flight responses. "We're going _home_," he ground out with a firm grip on the girl's hand. This time, when his family was in danger as they surely were now, he was going to pick flight.

"Daddy…"

"See?" Joker reprimanded him. "You're scaring her. Why you feel the need to ruin every moment of _fun_ in life is beyo-"

"Daddy…"

"We're going back, and that's the end of-"

"_Daddy_…"

"Oh really? Who _died_ and made you king, hmm?"

"I'd rather it not be any of _us_ toni-"

"_Daddy_…"

"Aww, you can't handle the streets without your pointy ears?"

"_DADDY…_"

"Gimme the money, fags."

Bruce's heart shuddered to a crashing halt. Joker stopped mid-breath, as his eyes faltered to surprise, then morphed into suspicion. The two slowly turned their heads to the direction Gotham was staring with her trembling, wild eyes.

The punk's face wasn't as angular as Chill's had been, and his hair was darker, bordering on the realms of black instead of that shaggy dark blonde. The mustache bore some resemblance, but the sparse beard was more developed and less attended to. The gun was a newer model than that of thirty-eight years ago, and shook considerably less in the mugger's grip.

But it was all the same in Bruce's eyes.

His family.

Was being held at gunpoint.

_His family was_ –

"I said, gimme y'dough, faggots." The gun gestured to them again, returned back to aiming squarely at chest-level for the adults. Gotham's hands tightened in each of her fathers', her petrified eyes hypnotized by the gun barrel.

Bruce knew he couldn't react as Batman would, with the automatic twist of the forearm to break the wrist, followed through with an uppercut to the jaw and a final knee to the ribs to effectively crack them and knock the assailant down. He wasn't in his armor right now, the only defining outfit that constituted such behavior from him.

But deep down he knew he had to do _something_.

_Training is nothing; will is everything._

He had failed to act then, his _father_ had failed to act, the man had also said jewelry and then _bang_, _scream_, _pearls, wallet, BANG – _

"Come _on_, fuckin' queers, I ain't got all night." The gun moved closer, trained on the more uneasy of the two men. "Don't want nobody gettin' _hurt_, do we?"

Gotham's hand was a death grip in Bruce's, and he was suddenly envisioning the scene through his mother's eyes, the child's hand clenching around its parent's as the gun zeroed in on the chest, neither one prepared for what would happen next –

Bruce wasn't moving, and the mugger didn't like it. "Ever heard of the word _now_, cocksucker? Go getcha boyfriend's wallet, a'ight?"

He probably had no real reason to believe they were actually lovers, or maybe their previous body language had given the obvious signals. Either way, this was quickly escalating far beyond the usual kinds of nightmares that transported Bruce back to that night. Hell, this nightmare had probably never been dreamt by _anyone_ before.

_The Batman and the Joker…were getting mugged._

Joker chose that precise moment to begin laughing hysterically.

The gasping hoots were a sharp veer away from Bruce's frozen memories, and enough to get him, Gotham, and the gunman to turn to the cackling madman out the corners of their eyes, wary and bewildered.

Joker had let go of Gotham's hand to clap them together in his delight, then managed to point at Bruce once he had gathered enough of himself to speak. "Oh, _you_…" he spluttered between breaths and endless giggles, "You…_you_, my good fellow, are a _riot!_ No…" he dissolved into another surge of an uproar, throwing his head back to the sky as mirthful tears began to collect at the corners of his eyes. "No…no _wonder_ you're so-heha_ha_-so _good_ at catching criminals," his one hand held his side as if in danger of it splitting, while his other arm swept in a wide gesture at the utterly perplexed mugger, "if you can just make them APPEAR, out of THIN AIR, when you want to prove a goddamn – _POINT!_"

Any further words of his were unintelligible to the other three as he drowned himself in his merriment. Bruce didn't know what to do first, what to _think_ first. Joker was laughing at a mugger, which was certainly helping to either distract the man from his threats or to make good on them all the hastier to end this madness. At this point, if the Joker really _was_ trying to ward off an attack, he may end up getting a bullet first.

But what was pressing on Bruce's sense of rising panic even further was that Joker had directly referenced his activities of _catching criminals._

And that the clown was making no effort whatsoever to disguise his signature cackles any longer.

Of course Joker had become thoroughly taken with tonight's idea once they got the evening started, for its ultimate appeal to him, Bruce knew, was the irony of the Batman and the Joker parading around their city at night as everyday citizens – with their young daughter, no less. For this, the lunatic had thrown himself headlong into his role, playing his part with so much ease it had taken Bruce quite by surprise to watch how _chameleon_-_like_ he could be when he wanted to. Their cashier from the restaurant had missed her chance to call the police when she had handed the killer his order, serving the most wanted man in the city with a smile as wide as his.

But now the mask was off, something the mugger was definitely noticing if his widening eyes, incessantly shaking gun, and quivering, sweat-beaded lips were anything to go by. Bruce watched the blur of movement as the barrel swerved from his chest to the unpainted, mad-laughing clown's, while Joker's hand on his side dipped into his blazer, reaching for something within the pockets, _Bruce, why were you such a fool to trust_ –

He reacted. Gotham's hand was released, and she shrank back behind Joker in terror. Thankfully some part of Bruce's rational mind still remained intact in a corner of his awareness, reminding him that neither as an anonymous Joe Schmoe nor Bruce Wayne could he be seen aiming his punches as precisely as Batman. He may work out every day to maintain his Olympian physique for the next lady of the evening, but he wasn't supposed to have any practical application for such defensive techniques to be utilized every night.

The instantaneous jerk of his arm to block the gun from his lover's body was slowed just a fraction of a second, to avoid appearing superhuman. The gun, diverted from its path as the trigger was pulled, shattered the second-story window shutters of the building beside them. He gave a window of time for the man to grunt with surprise before his abysmally-prepared fist hit the other's jaw at an odd angle, too slow for instant loss of consciousness but enough to disorient and daze.

A snarl sounded behind him, all the warning Bruce received before he and the armed man were knocked down by the Joker that flung himself into their midst. The madman was still laughing with glee, but now they were interspersed between his gasps for air from the struggle to grab the gun from the flailing mugger. That, and to sink the polished switchblade into any piece of the criminal's flesh he could gain purchase on.

Bruce saw the flick of silver, and with a growl of frustration at his anti-companion he leapt for the knife to pry it from Joker's grasp. His fingers clawed at Joker's, who growled and made to elbow him away, but not before his eyes lighted behind Bruce. The gun's metal squeezed against Bruce's throat as its owner grabbed him in a headlock, choking the breath out of him.

Joker was on the thug in an instant, his knife dangerously close to both the intended face and his beloved's neck. Bruce at this point was caught between fighting the mugger, fighting the Joker's will for a bloody massacre over a simple knockout, and fighting for his next breath. The latter of the three, at the moment, took up the majority of his concentration. Second after desperate second the clash of wills between the three arm-wrestled on, Bruce and the mugger against the knife, Joker and Bruce against the gun, all three criminals against their own lungs that wouldn't work hard enough for their tasks at hand.

At last Bruce managed to wrench the arm an inch from his throat, then twisted the hand to finally break the wrist. The mugger yelled in pain, but his cry was cut short as Bruce's elbow connected with his ribs, simultaneously pushing him away from the Joker and allowing Bruce the leverage enough to land a punch squarely on his temple, knocking him out cold.

He shook his hand out to work the impact out of his unarmored knuckles, panting for his rightful air again. "Bea_uu_tiful work, as always, dear," Joker purred behind him, but upon turning to face him Bruce only just caught the terrifyingly crazed look gleaming in the green eyes before lunging to stop the maniac's leap forward to the unconscious man, still-unused knife raised with glistening promise.

"_Stop!_" he roared as Joker shoved against his shoulder with all his might, but Bruce had had it with the night's turn of events; he was _not_ about to let Joker escalate things further. Joker attempted to twist past him, but a surge of Batman flared up like bile in Bruce's throat and he slammed his damned other half against the brick of the nearest building.

"We are _not_ – going – to _kill_ him," Bruce growled deep in his throat, at which sound he knew the pulse of light in Joker's eyes was reflecting that of his own.

"Oh?" scoffed Joker. "Then what _do_ you propose we do, hm? Let him _live_ to tell the tale of how he caught Batman and Joker holding hands, spinning yarns like regular chums? I thought you cared about your little secrets being _secrets_ more than that-"

"He _wouldn't_ have known at all if we'd left like I wanted to in the first place," Bruce countered, "and your giggling like the goddamn _lunatic_ you are didn't help matters!" He knew he really should try to keep his voice down in case another unlucky passerby overheard them, but his fermenting anger at said goddamn lunatic usually didn't coincide with any form of level-headedness, and this time was no exception. "What the _hell_ were you trying to accomplish with _that?_ You tell _me!_"

"If you let me at him, I just might be able to _show you_," Joker leered, and attempted to shove past Bruce again, but the Bat wasn't letting him. The struggle turned fierce, and there was a very real chance of them ensuing their age-old battle right then and there, costumes or not, they could feel it in their bones –

But not as sharply as they felt the high-pitched scream into the night air pierce their hearts.

Bat and Clown's eyes locked together, the closest thing to _panic_ their immortal personas had ever felt mounting between them. Eyes blue and green hovered together as the scream's after-burn tore holes through their eardrums. They turned to the source of the forbidden sound.

The Barbie toy lay on the pavement, alone.

Their age-old battle took on another of its numerous meanings as they wordlessly, breathlessly, thoughtlessly tore down the street to an adjacent alley, chasing the source of that terrible scream.

The mugger lay forgotten by the pair, but apparently not by his buddies. It had been an unfortunate slip of the mind on the part of both Batman and Joker that, ever since their equal rises to power, robberies were no longer usually carried out by lone men with a single gun. In that indirect way, Batman had achieved all he had ever been working for, by ensuring that his _exact_ tragedy would never befall anyone else again.

Instead, the desperate massed together in unified desperate clumps, banding together to form pseudo-gangs for a night or two. A single hit man was rarely acting completely alone. With the threat of the Batman and the Joker both on the city streets, criminals had learned the uses of strength – and safety – in numbers.

Gotham couldn't have been aware of any of these risks before tonight, but as she faced the retaliation of their comrade's severe beating by getting snatched off the street by the eight men surrounding her now, she was quickly becoming subjected to the true horrors of her namesake.

"What're we gonna do wid her?" one asked as he jogged up beside the one carrying the squirming girl.

"Would ya concentrate more on jus' runnin', Derek?" a third yelled back from the front of the entourage. "We're almost there, _then_ we c'figger it out!"

"I'm just _sayin'_," said Derek, panting between words, "maybe we should, y'know, think this trew? She don't got no money wid her, so whassa point?"

"The _point_," a fourth called from the rear as the group rounded a sharp turn, "is t'get her assfuckin' daddies to fork over _their_ money to us. Yo' momma gave ya brains for a reason, din' she, Derek?"

"MOTHERFUCKER!" howled the one carrying their kidnapped mini-freak. The gang scrambled to a stop, looking toward him in alarm. "Fuckin' cunt, she _bit_ me!" His hand was certainly bleeding quite a bit – thanks to a few experimental tactics when wrestling with her fathers, Gotham knew how to _mean_ it when she snapped at someone. Yet despite her violent struggling to break free from her captor's injured grip, he still didn't let go of her.

"Okay, _dat's_ it," growled a fifth, pulling out a fearsome-looking crowbar from his jacket. "I oughtta…"

"Woah, woah, easy there, Bernie," said the one who had unknowingly described the dark knight and the clown prince with the term _assfucking_, "no sense in anyone gettin' hurt, righ'?" The one still struggling with Gotham and his bleeding hand shot him a glare. "Er…anyone _else_, sorry, Flynn."

"Who put _you_ in charge, Wes?" Flynn barked above his attempts to keep Gotham still in his grasp, which was quite impressive considering the way she wriggled like a trout in his arms. "You ain't gonna get no fuckin' _AIDS_ from yo' hand bleedin'! I say no money ain't worth _dis_, go ahead, Bern-"

"Hey!" Wes stopped Bernie's crowbar again. "If y'want, _I'll_ take d'kid, you take care o'ya boo-boo." The others sniggered at Flynn's expense, but he was just glad to get the squirt off his hands as he passed her squirming body to Wes. "She's jus' a little _scared_, is all," said Wes, lifting her to meet his eyes to hers that seethed hatred and contempt. "I'm sure if we all jus' _calm down_, we'll get dis all over wid, and she'll play nice so she can go back home to watch her queer daddies suck each other off-"

She spat into his face.

"_Agh_, what the-"

Kicked him in the nuts.

"_YEEEAAOOOOWW-_"

And ran like hell away from them.

Wes doubled over behind her, and Flynn was still clutching his bleeding hand, but the yells of her abductors were far behind her, and all Gotham could think about was putting as much distance between her and the shouts as possible. She panted, her heart raced, her entire body was screaming for a reprieve, but her gut told her she had to keep running down the alley. _Just keep running, you'll get back home soon, just keep running-_

Fire erupted on her scalp, and she screamed. She couldn't keep running; she was being dragged backward by her hair. She screamed again as a rough hand wrenched her arm back, whirled her around, lifted her off the ground by her wrist and the roots of her hair. Tears welled in her eyes from the pain and the terror, no matter how hard she tried to hide them from Bernie's menacing face.

"You little goddamn _bitch!_" he bellowed at her face, and flung her into a pile of trash at the far wall of the alleyway. She whimpered as she felt something wet drip down her temple, and looking at the stain on the wall she realized it was blood.

Spotting a small, hollow crate, she hid inside it, though it did nothing to shield her from her attackers' eyes. Bernie was at the head, thumping his crowbar into his hand repeatedly as he advanced on her, his five mates behind him, including Derek at the rear, knives and other assorted weapons in their hands.

"_Daddy_…" Gotham whispered in a hopeless prayer through her tears as Bernie raised his crowbar high.

The weapon slammed down, hitting its mark as blood sprayed everywhere.

Gotham looked up from her wince, from the impact that had never come.

It hadn't, because Bruce and Joker's had hit first.

Bernie's dark blue shirt pooled with a darker maroon as the knife puncture tore through to his front, and only before the blade's tip slid through a button hole did Joker withdraw it from the thug's torso. Bruce knocked the convulsing body to the side, either not noticing or not caring that it was going to be dead soon, and with roars of the deranged the two met the blows of the other five with a flurry of attacks only the two of them could have conjured up.

Watching them fight off the single mugger with the gun earlier had been a strange mix of frightening and fascinating to her, but they hadn't moved quite like _this_. Nor had they screamed this wildly. They hadn't taken quite so keenly to the promise of violence with the gunman, nor had such a penchant for smashing her assailants into brick walls before pummeling them senseless.

Before may have been alarming yet intriguing, but _this_…

Maybe her brush with death had something to do with it, but watching her parents' current motions was _consuming _her_._

She cowered in the wooden frame of the crate, as much out of harm's way as she could manage, quaking as Bruce's fist, this time perfectly formed, crushed a thug's nose with a sickening crunch. His gaze at the floundering man glared a merciless black, then rose to the next victim as he leapt over the nose bleeder's half-conscious form to kick his buddy into the ground.

Derek attempted to raise his pistol at Bruce's back as the vigilante's foot met ribs over and over again, knocking the other ruffian into the wall. He never got the chance to fire, however, as Joker yanked him by his short and scraggly hair and used his head to whack it against that of a comrade's, with such force their skulls were most likely more than just fractured before he dropped them both against the opposite wall.

Snarling like a rabid dog, Joker tore after the last man standing between him and Gotham, easily dodging the knife swipe to his chest and, half-grinning like a fool, lurched to the hooligan's throat with his bare hands. Hooligan, however, was smart, and arced his knife through the air, to Joker's face.

The killer clown maneuvered himself just in time, and all that the blade accomplished was tearing through one side of the latex. For an instant the thug rejoiced at slicing through skin, only to recoil in horror when he realized someone had beat him to the task years ago in a forgotten memory.

Joker took the man by the throat again, squeezing the breath and pulse out of him. It was when he was sure that the man placed his scars to his more famously-known identity that Bruce grabbed the man's arm, fractured both radius and ulna without a second thought, and threw the knife yards away before throwing the petrified and screaming brute down the alley.

He landed at the feet of Flynn and Wes, who had come pelting down the alley upon hearing the commotion to assist their fallen companions. Their eyes locked on the two tall men, then on the girl. As if in a silent agreement, they bolted for Gotham –

The two animals were on them in an instant with roars of protective fury.

Their meaning was clear: w_rong_ _choice_.

The four men grappled in a duel of the highest stakes, two against two, Bruce and Joker shoving with their combined strength against the criminals of inferior rank. There was no conscious thought left in the city's lords; nothing remained but action and reaction, attack and counterattack. Defending their offspring individually, or banding together as one unit to block all threats to _their_ Gotham.

_Theirs._

Through no external communication to each other, they feigned relenting a tad, only to resurge anew with feral snarls and shove their opponents sprawling backward to the ground. A knife leapt eagerly into Joker's waiting hand, and upon seeing it Flynn scrambled to his feet and raced down the alley faster than he had ever run in his life, wheezing desperately and clutching his still-bleeding hand as Joker pelted after him in hot pursuit.

Gotham craned her head out of the crate an inch or two to watch her blonde father disappear further down the alley, but didn't expect to find herself nose-to-nose to Wes.

"_Shhhh_…" he mouthed, pressing a finger to his lips and grinning as he belly-crawled on the ground, hoping Bruce wouldn't see him. His hand clamped around Gotham's mouth before her dry vocal cords could muster a scream, as his other hand reached for his gun at his belt –

A dark chainsaw roar sent tremors through the night air, and before Wes could finger the trigger, a hand usually cased in black Kevlar for the task dragged him back by his ankle, before reaching to the back of his neck and _slamming_ his head against the unforgiving brick. That wasn't the end of his agony, however. It was only the beginning.

Shrinking back into her crate, Gotham watched her father go berserk.

Something had snapped in Bruce. Holding his child's hand as a gun leveled at his own chest had been one thing. Hearing his child scream in the distance had been another. Racing against the clock as he watched six men with all kinds of pain-inducing weapons converge on his child had been another still.

But something about watching a man lay a hand on his child's mouth as he reached to pull out a gun to _shoot his child_ was making him rain his fists down upon the man like he never had before.

Even more brutal than he'd ever envisioned dealing out to Chill in his teenage years, even harsher than some of his heavier fights with Joker. No matter how much blood gushed from the _monster_ beneath his fists, no matter how much bone he crushed with his knuckles, no matter how many screams and whimpers and "_please_"s he could draw from that throat, it would always be one degree less than enough to placate him. Weariness was a forgotten concept to his body.

_Would you have let her plead with you before you killed my daughter? WOULD YOU HAVE?_

Hands feebly batted up to shield the raw meat of a face, but Bruce's assaults crushed the bones in the appendages without a thought. It made no difference. His face and chest now flowed as red as the vision of the crusader's, his flesh bruised as black as Bruce's eyes now swirled.

Yet somehow, Wes still managed to aim a kick to Bruce's face out of the blue, knocking him away. Wes staggered to his feet, bleating and crying, feeling his way up the wall to a standing position. He limped and swayed down the alley for a few feet, before stopping to turn around to the _click_ he heard behind him.

It all happened with a blur of clarity to Bruce. He saw the man stumbling away from him, then his eyes were drawn to the gun he'd left behind – as magnetic to his purpose tonight as breathing. Fluidly his hand found the cooling metal, resting like home in his palm, and he pulled back the hammer, as easily as if he'd shot Chill that day and every day afterward. He raised the firearm, and as if by the will of fate the target turned to face him, so he could see his _face_, the look in his _eyes_ as he died –

Wes gurgled on a scream, choking on his own blood, as the knife sheared through his throat just before Bruce's finger could close on the trigger.

A weight of cold lead dropped in Bruce's core as he watched Joker hold the corpse up, letting his victim drain of the rest of his blood, before throwing the body to the ground again. He could barely breathe in the newfound oxygen that tasted so much heavier than before. His eyes stared dumbly at the weapon in his hand, now feeling foreign and out of place.

Vomit rose in his throat, and he choked it back down, a task made easier as Joker pried the gun from his fingers and took it into his own possession. Where it now rightfully belonged.

His hands were still bloodied from Wes, and shaking so violently, but they stilled considerably as they grabbed Joker's when offered to him, lifting him back to his feet. He stood, for a moment just breathing, then they turned to the pounding little footsteps ricocheting off the walls away from them.

Gotham ran away sobbing in a rising volume, away from Bruce, away from Joker, away from the bloodied carcass between them. She wasn't sure of anything anymore, but most specifically what she was most upset about. Whether it was the fact that Joker had just _killed_ a man, right before her very eyes, _in her name_…

…or the fact that Bruce hadn't.

She just knew she couldn't face them, couldn't let either truth sink in for her – either option was too much for her tender spirit to handle. The crunching footfalls behind her were fast approaching, and she broke into a sprint down the street, anything to shield her from accepting what her fathers had just done…

Bruce's arms were around her, and she struggled against him, screeching "_No, no, Daddy!_" until the last word was all she could say as she collapsed into his arms, letting him carry her to the car. She couldn't muster up enough coherency of thought to question why Joker didn't join them on the ride home.

Or why he had kept the gun.

xxx

Later that night, she was seated on the kitchen counter, sipping hot chocolate as Bruce stitched up the nasty cut on her head, while Alfred attended to a scrape on her leg she hadn't noticed before. She hadn't said a word since arriving back home, but neither guardian of hers demanded otherwise. Somehow they both knew that coaxing a child into speech after a traumatizing experience was not a process to be rushed.

She didn't remember very much of it, she realized after churning thought after thought around in her head. Most of her mind was suspended in a safety-net of chaos immediately afterward, and as the minutes wore on at home she seemed to be settling again. There had been running, and yelling, and something about a gun…but at the thought of the weapon she thought back to Joker, and her brain halted her train of thoughts and made it start the reel all over again. It was a frustrating process, so eventually she opted for the survival mechanism of blocking out the details for a time.

All she had to focus on now was that she was back at home, and out of danger. All thanks to her daddies, who she remembered had saved her life. _How_ exactly was hazy in her memory, except that it had been fearsome. The fact that they had acted at all was unsurprising; the concept of _saving the day_ had long since hardwired into her mind along the same wavelength as that of _Daddy_. They always had been, and always and always would be, her heroes.

Daddy had finished sewing up the cut on her head, and after putting the thread and scissors back in the medical kit he met her eyes. His eyes were back to their gentle blue, exactly like hers as they transmitted and received comfort from each other.

Bruce brought her into his arms again, wanting that final bit of proof that she really _was_ there, just wanting to _hold_ her. She hugged back, closing her eyes, squeezing past a flash of memory involving her daddy's hand around a gun…

"You're okay, aren't you?" she heard his whisper to her. Unable to muster speech still, she just nodded. As long as she could stay in Daddy's embrace just a little bit longer, she would be okay. It would take her mind off guns…or maybe would keep reminding her of them, whichever option was better…

Bruce held her tighter, and she could somehow sense the same object was weighing heavy on both their minds. But Bruce was having a different reaction to it than she. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she finally managed to whisper.

"No, no, don't be," he reassured her. "_None_ of this is your fault. _None_ of it."

"These things are never anyone's fault," Alfred put in, "except those who attacked you." Bruce got the feeling that Alfred was referring to more than one incident of this nature, but let the remark go. The two nights had been eerily similar, and chiefly among the similarities was that it _had_ been _all his fau-_

The clock chimed eleven down the hall, alerting Bruce to the window of time at hand that allowed him to continue tonight's earlier events, only this time under the mantle of justice. When he went back out there, it wouldn't be personal.

"I'd better go," he said, half-releasing Gotham from his arms. "Get some sleep, alright, honey?" She looked up at him as if he'd suggested she prove the Theory of Relativity on her own tonight. Sighing at her trepidation, he passed his hand down her face. "Things'll look better in the morning," he said gently, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before turning for the door.

"Is that what you do every night?"

He turned back, taken somewhat aback by her question. "What do you mean?"

"Fight all the bad guys."

He let out a breath he hadn't quite noticed he'd been holding, upon realizing she'd been asking about defending the right, not embracing the wrong to do so. He nodded.

Alfred scooped her up in preparation to take her back to her room for the sleep her father had prescribed. Before they left, she smiled at Bruce. "I hope you help more people, Daddy."

For the first time in hours, Bruce found his facial muscles could be willed into a smile again, and he beamed back at her. "I'll do all I can."

His princess left with Alfred then, back inside the walls of her castle, safe and sound where he no longer had to directly defend her wellbeing. Indirectly, however…

A biting voice at the back of his mind leered that, for all his progress these past sixteen years, he was no step closer to defeating his denial than he'd been when he'd started.

Out there, no matter whom it was he fought for, it was _always _personal.

xxx

As the elevator deposited Bruce inside the faintly dripping walls of his cave, he was realizing with more and more certainty just _how_ terrible an idea tonight had been. He _knew_ what kind of a city they lived in, the one he had named his own child after. He had seen its very best, true, but people like Alfred and Commissioner Gordon were hard to find on the late night streets of Gantry. Those locations were usually populated at this hour by those they had encountered tonight. Both the criminals and the vigilante who fought them, and the terrorist who preyed upon them and everyone else for pure sport.

But – he walked over to his monitors, oddly unsettled to discover that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired in the rest of the city; life had gone on in the wide world – not many people would have taken the route through the streets that they had tonight. Was that to blame for their misfortune? The perilous path they had chosen to walk that night, or was it the path he and Joker had always chosen, and had unintentionally set their daughter upon by default?

Perhaps what nagged at his mind the worst as he reached his armory was that tonight's events were a signal of what was to come.

He realized he couldn't shield Gotham from the world forever, as much as he wished he could. She would grow older, and grow up, and eventually yes, live her own life, taking her own chances with the world as she saw fit. He knew from both her heritage and her observed character that she wouldn't be content to let life just _happen_; she would be out there on the front lines, _making_ life happen according to _her_.

What those wishes of hers would be was another issue entirely, one he didn't feel like bringing up with himself tonight. But at least things did seem somewhat promising at the moment. She had even told him tonight: "I hope you hurt more people, Daddy."

No, it was _help_. She had said _help_. She _had_.

…hadn't she?

He could barely remember anymore, his mind was so drained from the night's experiences.

But had tonight been merely a tragic mishap…or a preview of the inevitable?

The fact that he was even _considering_ the latter made his stomach churn as he divested himself of his clothes, reaching for the mesh that he wore beneath his armor.

At least focusing on tonight's implications concerning his daughter brought his mind's focus away from what it meant about _himself_. He'd go out in the night air first, refresh himself, catch a few criminals and pummel a few faces – with _restraint_ – to redefine his purpose in his mind. _Then_ he could meet the earlier events with a clear head, and put the incessant subject to bed for good.

All plans of putting the mental reflection off for another time, however, faded the instant the door opened behind him. He didn't turn around to see who it was; he didn't need to. Only one person would know he was down here and not use the common courtesy of knocking first.

The door slid shut again, and Bruce continued suiting up. Gradually he prepared himself for any sort of confrontation, snide remark, anything at all from his other half, when he realized that Joker didn't _actually _possess telepathy, and the whole process was only making him think back to the night's events in full force. Such was the effect the clown always had on him, making him relive his worst moments. Yet it was a behavior he many times secretly thanked the man for urging out of him – Joker made him _confront_ his failures.

Joker, meanwhile, wasn't saying anything. From all Bruce could tell, he was just standing there behind him, watching him dress in his armor. Yet Bruce had the vivid image in his mind's eye of Joker's arms folded, a grim look on his face, staring holes through the knight's back.

"So."

The single word made Bruce pause in attaching his right gauntlet, for it sounded so…_accusatory_. As if he were a deviant lover who had just been caught unawares in bed with the other woman, and the wife was about to drop the bomb.

"…what?" he asked, probing for more to be divulged from the clown's mind than just "so."

Joker, however, was not a scorned woman, and didn't waste time beating around the bush when so much was at stake for him.

"Do you not have one rule anymore?"

Bruce froze cold. Of course it was that.

The man beneath his fists, then he'd kicked him away to escape, the _gun_…

It had been so familiar in his hands, like he'd killed a thousand times before…

Cool metal like a stress ball, just waiting to be squeezed to satisfy his rage, then the man's _face_…he'd wanted to see his _face_ as he…

_The man who had wanted to kill their baby._

Bruce continued with his left glove, letting his thoughts slide together. He considered, and Joker waited, breathing silent breath while wondering which would be his last in the world he'd always known.

"I still have my one rule," Bruce said quietly. He still didn't look at Joker, still worked at sliding on his glove. He reached to the remaining gauntlet.

"Then what was tonight?" Joker put in. He still didn't move, still remembering Bruce's fingers curling around the metal currently in his own palm, how they had looked so right there but felt in his heart so _wrong_…

"Tonight was…"

A pause. Nothing. Waiting.

"Tonight I still had one rule."

Joker's breath whirred audibly through his nostrils. He saw what Bruce was really getting at with that statement. "Which was…?"

Bruce stopped his progress on his gauntlet entirely, and turned to face Joker. His previous visualization of Joker's stance had been, unsurprisingly, entirely correct. He also noted that Joker was back in full ensemble, divulged of latex and back in suit, paint, green hair, and most likely a large number of weapons. His eyes never left Bruce's as green searched through the deep blue that was swiftly darkening to black again, a black he once would have died to see.

"_No one. Harms my daughter._"

A long moment passed. Batman and Joker watched each other carefully, sizing each other up to the truth. Judgment was cast, not on each other, but rather on themselves.

A corner of Joker's mouth tugged up in a half-smile. A single breath of a laugh left his nose. "That's funny," he murmured, then without missing a beat, he turned on his heel and made for the door.

Bruce was quite thrown off by what Joker could possibly find in the entire situation as _funny_. "What is?"

Joker stopped his tracks at his lover's question, and didn't move for a moment. His head then inclined over his shoulder for a time, looking almost-but-not-quite at Bruce. "For a while there, I could've sworn…" He trailed off, lost in thought. Then he breathed another laugh, and continued his step.

"Could've sworn what?"

Bruce wasn't leaving this alone, so Joker turned further, this time meeting Bruce's eyes directly.

"…that that was my rule tonight, too," he spoke softly.

The words sent an arrow through Bruce's core, one he knew wasn't in the usual metaphorical spirit of Cupid. They held onto each other's gaze for a minute longer, almost afraid to look away.

Joker then left, and Bruce turned away, back to spreading the kohl over his eyes and masking his face in his cowl. But as they went about their nightly tasks and escapades in the hours to follow, they knew that no matter how they tried to run from it with mantles of defender and destroyer, a part of them underneath would forever be set free from everything else they had ever known, and trapped instead in a rule of a different kind, that simple one rule that every parent puts before all others, at any cost.

* * *

**A/N: So, AP tests are done, I'm almost done with my second-to-last week of school before finals week, so what does KitCat do? Pick up where she left off in like AUGUST or something and finish up one of the darkest chapters of this fic so far. How much more celebratory could you get, no? xP **

**And I know I suck at fight scenes (why then, you may ask, am I writing about Batman and Joker? Still haven't figured that one out :P), but I honestly wasn't planning on going as detailed on the play-by-play of the action. It just happened. :3 So if you think it wasn't up to par, don't worry, I'm well aware of it. But feel free to tell me so anyway. **

**And as an added trivia, here's a few links for ya. Both are maps of Gotham City that are useful to any Batfan. Map 1 is here: www(dot)alternaterealitybranding(dot)com(slash)tdk(slash)www_ibelieveinharveydent_com(slash)youinaction(dot)aspx and it displays the different neighborhood districts including the ones referenced in this chapter. And then for a comprehensive city map of comicverse's Gotham that uses the same geography as the first map and shows prominent locales, go to Map 2, here: upload(dot)wikimedia(dot)org(slash)wikipedia(slash)en(slash)a(slash)ae(slash)Gotham_City_map(dot)jpg **

**Though I relocated Crime Alley to more around Wayne Tower in Gantry, since in BB the Waynes took the train downtown to get to the opera house, outside of which was the alley they were murdered in. And besides, "Crime Alley" sounds more like a downtown, cesspit-of-the-city kind of place, not a high-brow uptown area where it's placed in Lemmars on the second map. But hey, what do I know about city planning :P**

**Though the Narrows should probably be where Merchant's Square is on Map 1, since that's where the island with Arkham Asylum is located according to Map 2. And the Narrows IS an island, not part of the island of midtown, right? Pfft, I'm getting so caught up with these discrepancies. Do your job better, Mayor Garcia! D:**

**Because why, oh WHY are there THREE ways to get off Arkham Asylum's island via the New Trigate Bridge, yet Blackgate Island only has ONE way on or off? We only give the normal prisoners one way back, but the CRAZY AND DERANGED SUPERVILLAINS WHO HAVE A TENDENCY TO BREAK OUT OFTEN…GET NOT ONE, NOT TWO, BUT **_**THREE**_** POSSIBLE GETAWAY ROUTES? INTO ANY AREA OF THE CITY THEY PLEASE? COME ON, GOTHAM. USE LOGIC.**


	12. The Immovable Object Is a Jungle Gym

Always and Always

Chapter 12: The Immovable Object Is a Jungle Gym

**Also known as The Chapter That Has Absolutely No Point Beyond Obligatory Fluff. **

Bruce scrolled down the page on the monitor, his eyes raking each line with sharp scrutiny. His middle finger slid down the touchpad halfway again, then paused and hovered an inch in the air. His eyebrows were knitted into a V that over the years had become dangerously close to etching itself permanently onto his face, a perfect replica of his scowl-sculpted mask. Still, he kept reading. Searching for a clue that would point the way toward solving this mystery.

On a far right screen, the news headline blared bold. _LexCorp CEO Disappears, Conglomerate In Turmoil_. It was dated 2016, over four years ago, but the unexplained event had rocked the corporate world ever since. LexCorp had been around for decades, formed around the time of his parents' crusade against poverty, but the company had skyrocketed into a global competitor under the reins of its new leadership. Its goal, as both Bruce and Lucius had quickly discerned, was simple: to take down Wayne Enterprises. The struggle to anticipate and block the conglomerate's every advance and acquisition had been a fierce one, indeed; Lucius had probably lost at least a year's worth of sleep, all told. Had it not been for enlisting the Catwoman's help as an unofficial spy, the CEO's plan just might have succeeded.

A chilling thought, Bruce knew, for that particular CEO was Talia Head.

Or rather, _had been_ Talia Head. For the newspaper was telling the truth: four years ago, she had vanished, wiped clean off the map without a trace. If she was in hiding she was certainly doing a fine job of it, for not even the Batman could pick up her trail.

The timing of her disappearance stirred an old shred of worry in Bruce's mind, as it happened to correspond with that one particular night when…

He pushed the memory to the side. Now was not the time to dwell on the mistakes of the past. The current state of the League of Shadows was his chief concern at present. That was what LexCorp _was_, after all – merely the financial front enabling all the organization's misanthropic ventures. Bruce was the only outsider privy to this fact, and upon reflection, its formation _had_ in fact coincided with the economic depression Gotham City had been forced into due to Ra's' efforts.

But Ra's was dead now, and Talia was missing. For a time the League had gone without a clear leader, and its poor management and internal rivalries within LexCorp clearly reflected it.

Until now.

Bruce's middle finger swiped down the touchpad once more, his eyes pouring over the current financial statements of the corporation. The information before his eyes had been surprisingly easy to obtain, and the reason for it was the entire mystery he had been attempting to riddle out for the past hour.

LexCorp was liquidating. The announcement last Tuesday had shocked the world, since recently it seemed the company was getting back on its feet – its stock value had increased at least twelvefold from its depreciated price of recent years. Yet no major expansions had been made to roll in more profits, as any other stabilizing entity would have done; rather, it seemed to be almost laying low. Stockpiling its assets. And now, it was cashing in by dissolving the conglomerate, selling off its shares and subsidiary holdings to the highest bidder, sending its leaders off into the sunset to the Italian villas and private yachts they would no doubt be able to afford once the dissolution was complete. Lucius was as level-headed a businessman as ever concerning the affair, but Bruce could tell he was at least a slight bit eager to absorb as much of the corporation as possible, in light of the cutthroat-competition stunt it had pulled on him years ago.

It wasn't the liquidation itself that worried Bruce – on the contrary, he was quite relieved to be rid of the giant that had threatened his family's wealth and that of his own city. No, what worried him was _why_ the League was closing up shop and running away with the fortune it was worth, _what_ it intended to do with the new treasure trove, and perhaps most importantly…

…on _whose_ authority.

The current CEO was under the name "Alexander Luthor," but Bruce immediately knew it to be a ruse; the name was that of a fictional villain in that limited-release campy movie about an alien in tights and a cape. No pictures of the man were ever released to the public, due to a "debilitating illness"; though, Bruce mused, it wasn't called the League of _Shadows_ for nothing. Either this "Mr. Luthor" knew how to be _truly_ invisible, or, most likely, he didn't exist at all.

Then who _was_ controlling the League's funding now?

Bruce rubbed his eyes, burning from the bright lights in the darkened cave, and wished he'd had the thought to bring some coffee down here with him. Yet there had to be _something_ in here to point him in the right direction, maybe a pattern of transactions, some accelerated production in a particular industry that would signify what new scheme his ex-mentoring brotherhood was cooking up next –

"Ah-ba-ba-daaa!"

He turned his head to the surprisingly far-off babbling; he had been so intent upon the research he hadn't noticed how far away from him the eleven-month-old girl had traveled. Walking was still a shaky work-in-progress for her, though that concept clearly did not compute with Gotham; for the past two months the only goal present in her mind had been to walk like a grownup or die trying. Such was her determination, and indeed, all four of her various guardians had each intervened in her quest at some point (quite often at the last second), to avoid the latter option from becoming reality.

But somehow, she had managed to cover a hundred feet of ground while Bruce hadn't been looking, and she was now happily picking up small chunks of something from the rock floor of the cave.

Something that, to Bruce's keen eyes, looked suspiciously like bat guano.

"Put that down!" he called to her, though it was his warning tone that perked up her ears more than the actual contents of the command. In an attempt to reassure Daddy that nothing was wrong and that the brittle little pellets were completely _harmless_, she held a dropping up in her hand and squealed with merriment.

Bruce got out of his chair and made toward her, saying "No, I said put it _down_," and Gotham, laughing with delight at the sudden game of chase, started booking across the cave on hands and knees. The tactic was causing the pellets in her hands to get squished, however, so to remedy the situation she attempted to stand up. This time, she would _finally_ show Daddy that she _could_ walk like a grownup could, and she'd run faster than he could, faster than _anyone_.

She took a shaky step, another, two more in quick succession, _yes!_ "Gah-ba-boo-da!" she proclaimed in exultation of her feat on two feet, not caring where she was going because she was _going_ somewhere-

That somewhere suddenly became up into Daddy's arms as they closed around her, but it didn't dampen her spirits in the slightest; she laughed loudly at the game's conclusion, the cackles echoing around the cave with a sound at once eerie yet joyful. She was so caught up in her hilarity that she didn't even mind when Bruce swept the crumbling pellets out of her hands.

"I said, _put it down_. Didn't you hear me?" She threw her arms around him in response. "Look, now it's all over your hands," he chided, lifting one up for her to see the sprinklings of animal waste still on it. She giggled. "That just makes you so proud of yourself, doesn't it?" Her grin at him clearly answered the question. He sighed. "Come on, let's wash it off."

She was squealing in joviality all over again as he carried her on the impromptu fieldtrip into the makeshift lavatory he'd set up in his cave, and she leaned over until he ended up holding her sideways in his arms. She held her arms high in the air as if flying like an airplane, and he sat her on the counter by the sink.

"You'd better consider yourself lucky," he said as he held a washcloth under the water while she swung her legs in the air, "that you even got to have this little adventure. If Alfred weren't out grocery shopping and I didn't have to work on this business…" he started scrubbing her left hand with the soapy rag, "…with the League of Shadows tonight, you would be up in your room…" he moved to her right hand, "…playing with your Alphabet Book.

"But no, you were _lucky_ today…" he took her hands and held them under the water to rinse them off, "…and you got to finally see what's behind the bookshelf in the piano room. You got to see all of Daddy's fancy toys today, _and_ you got to see the bats." He took a towel and dried off her hands, and she made a loud _ba_ sound when he mentioned the word _bats_.

"Yes, the bats," he said, and she giggled once. "_But_," she looked up at him, confused at the warning she was suddenly receiving, "you don't get to play with what the bats leave behind, okay? That's nasty stuff. You'd get sick. Do you know what histoplasmosis is? Cryptococcosis? Chlamydia psittaci?" She laughed at the strange syllables he was rattling off, unaware that they were all fungal and bacterial infections, the antibodies for which she had been wisely injected with the first week of her life. She leaned backward to lie on the counter, spreading her arms and legs wide as if intent on making the world's first marble-angel.

Daddy's face leaned over hers. "You'll find out if you keep touching the bat guano. And you won't like it." She grabbed his nose, and he smiled, then picked her back up again and walked back into the cave proper. "If you're not going to listen to me, I guess you'll have to sit with me while I read the boring accounting records."

Upon realizing she was sentenced to close supervision in Daddy's lap, with his arms clutched around her while he kept reading at his computer screens, she called up to him with a single vowel sound, in hopes of catching his attention to the problem. He glanced down at her. "You asked for it," he said, and turned back to reading.

She sat in silent defeat for a while, then quickly forgot the reason for it and switched her brain back into happy gear. She could at least improvise _some_ fun while tethered to Daddy.

And what was her favorite game to play with Daddy?

Bruce the Jungle Gym.

She twisted her body around to attach onto his right bicep, and shimmied her way up until all four limbs were wrapped around his upper arm, clinging to him like a monkey. This was _her_ arm now, and she wasn't letting it go.

The records made no sense to Bruce. The business's profits had increased by a considerable margin the last three quarters, but not in a manner that would point toward illegal activities. In fact, _nothing_ pointed toward _any_ malignant intentions on the company's part at all. The stock prices jumped around like they always did on a day-to-day basis, but they had trended upward like the rest of the market, without any indication of clockwork growth like LSI Holdings had had back in its day. This _was_ the same LexCorp run by Talia al Ghul, wasn't it? What reason had it, then, to dissolve its business and fade away into a corporate legend? And why _now_?

A tiny hand pressed against his eye, making him lose his focus on the page in front of him, as Gotham used his head to balance herself while attempting to stand on his shoulders. He raised his eyes up to her, and upon noticing a wobbling leg he offered a finger in the air. She grabbed it gratefully, and with a loud "Ah!" she was sitting perched on top of his head, her legs dangling in front of his face.

"Sweetheart, what're y-" he began, before she accidentally kicked him in the eye with her heel. So much for reading.

"This isn't going to work, honey." His hands found her sides, and he lifted her up and behind him, setting her down on his shoulders again. "You can stay there, as long as you keep still. Daddy has to work, remember?" Two skinny arms slid in front of his vision as she held herself close to the back of his head, and he sighed. He relocated her arms to his forehead, and tried to find his place again.

He'd almost found it when he suddenly choked as Gotham's heels dug into his throat, and an unexplained lurch nearly made him tip backward. Fortunately for the girl, he balanced himself just in time, for she had fallen backward herself – on purpose – and was now hanging upside-down, back-to-back with her father, suspended only by her legs that were still hooked around his neck.

She squealed loudly with glee at the euphoric rush of blood to her head and the exhilarating reversal of gravity, and Bruce grabbed her feet to free his airway. He coughed once, twice, then finally managed, "My neck is _not_ a monkey bar, Gotham."

"Ahaaaa-da-ya-ya-ba!" she yelled back to him with an upside-down smile on her face, which probably directly translated to _Now it is, Father Dearest._

He could feel her flapping her arms behind him, still rambling some high-pitched nonsense or other, and then he finally realized what she was doing with her upturned antic.

She was imitating the bats hanging above their heads.

He chuckled at the thought. _Monkey see, monkey do._

"You want to fly?" he asked her. She wiggled her legs in his grip, indicating she wanted him to join in on her fun, not really caring how. He couldn't think of any other way to get her out of this precarious position, anyway.

He lowered her down until her heels were below his shoulder blades, making her breathless with adrenaline at the complete lack of control her body had over gravity, then flung her high above his head, a good ten feet in the air. She hooted into the cave with a shriek more of exhilaration than fright, and Bruce knew he would have been absolutely terrified at the sight of his flying daughter if he hadn't been the one to instigate the flight. However, he couldn't help smiling as she rose high above his head with the greatest joy on her face, then came tumbling back into his arms, both of them laughing profusely at the stunt.

Bruce was soon sore from laughing so hard and long, and he knew it was because he hadn't had much practice with the activity for the past thirty-four years. Laughter in the Wayne household, he had come to understand, was only present when there existed two generations to share in it.

His chuckling quieted, and his hand weaved through his daughter's hair as she laughed with that mixture of mirth and uncomprehending affection that spread from her trusting eyes into his. Her head was upon his chest, held closer by his hand, and soon he was just smiling at her absently, watching her languish in his lap with the receding elation that gave way to simple contentment.

It was the moments like this – those little, inconsequential moments that slipped through his fingers like sand – that made Bruce realize just _how much_ a parent could love his child. He'd heard tell of the perfect phenomenon, but not until a person became a parent himself could he fully comprehend that fact. It made him feel so arrogantly selfish about the pain of losing his own parents, and for all the things he did in the name of his love for them, and to redeem his worthiness of their love for him.

Because if events that night had played out to the opposite end, the pain _his parents_ would have gone through due to losing their _child_ would have been…_inconceivable_. He couldn't have even brought himself to imagine a _speck_ of what that loss would have felt like, until he found himself upon the parental end of the relationship as he did now.

He was even more careful at night nowadays, and he kept an even closer eye upon Joker's every move in the city.

Simply because he couldn't – _wouldn't_ – let his own child suffer the same tragedy as his own.

If there was one way he could compensate for the loss he had endured, it was by ensuring that his little Gotham had _both _her parents by her side for as long as they were able to be. She wouldn't be robbed of her childhood as he had been.

"Na-neneh-gaw," she said, and he wasn't sure if it was a nonsense question or an unintelligible statement. Either way, she was beaming at him, so he returned the expression.

"I've always said she has your smile."

Bruce grinned even wider at the approaching sound of that familiar, razorblade voice behind him. "Better than having yours."

A giggle sounded behind his head, and once again he felt a chin rest on top of his skull, though this one was a great deal larger and stronger. "Batsy's cracking a joke about my gorgeous scars in his own cave?" the voice asked, as uneven fingernails began toying through his hair. "He _must_ be in a good mood."

"No thanks to this," Bruce gestured at the computer screen. Joker squinted at the brightly-lit monitor, eyes lighting on the newspaper headline.

"LexCorp?" he asked, his fingers pausing in their caresses. "Not the…run-by-the-spawn-of-the-demon-Dalai-Lama LexCorp?"

"If you're referring to Talia Head, then yes, the very same."

Joker hummed in thought. "Y'know, honeypie," he purred lowly, "rumor had it that it was _you_ that gave her…'_Head_'." He slid a glance at Bruce, waiting for the Bat's reaction.

The Bat turned to meet his glance. "And now, I give _you_ head," he uttered to the scarce gap between their faces, before closing the gap with a brief kiss. "Happy?" Joker kissed him again in response, and they let it play between them a bit longer than the first, ending it with a low hum from Joker and mischievous grins that brushed together.

"Quite," Joker decided, resolving the transaction with a press of his lips right above Bruce's mouth, then turning to the human being they both shared. "How 'bout you, sugarplum?"

Gotham took one look at him and began to bawl loudly.

The sudden mood swing from her previous placation took both her parents completely by surprise, especially since they had no idea what had caused it. Joker raised his eyebrows. "I'll take that as a _no_, then," he said.

"She was just fine a minute ago," Bruce protested against the violent shift in her temperament, trying to brush the unprecedented tears from her face. "She's been as happy as _you_ always are all day today. What's the matter?"

Gotham wasn't letting on about what was the matter, and upon Bruce's touch to her face she threw herself against his chest, curling up in a ball and shaking with fearful sobs. For it certainly seemed to be fear that was causing her outburst, the way she trembled and hid from the rest of the world.

But when Joker reached down to caress her head in an effort to calm her down, she flinched away and screamed her sobs even louder, her reddening face staring directly up at his in horror. "What're you so scared of _me_ for?" Joker asked her quietly. He didn't have any blood staining his clothes, which may have triggered such a panic attack; she was young still, too young to realize that blood wasn't something to cringe from but rather to _delight in_…

"Joker…"

He turned to Bruce's eyes that were peering at him with some hidden revelation, one that the Bat didn't seem to want to bring up but was the key to solving the problem.

"…you're not wearing your makeup."

His hand shot up to his face at the statement, and…Bruce was right. Of course, how could he have forgotten! No wonder he had felt so _off_ upon entering the cave.

But it seemed that, without his true face he'd always shown her, _his own daughter didn't even recognize him_.

He smirked, a strange surge of pride brewing in his chest at the notion. "C'mon, girlie," he said, grabbing her into his arms. She screamed and grabbed at Bruce's shirt, terror smearing her face as she wailed for Daddy to save her from this intruding stranger that was stealing her away. Joker easily pulled her away, however, and walked off with her back into the lavatory, Gotham yowling over his shoulder and reaching back for Bruce.

Bruce sighed and followed Joker. Neither one of them had ever really thought about this possibility before, most likely because they were both so used themselves to the existence of Joker's two faces. Gotham, however, had never seen Joker without his makeup, and as such assumed the painted face as natural as Bruce's unmasked face.

Gotham was indeed a strange case; only she would become distraught over the Joker's normal skin in place of his war paint, instead of the other way around.

Joker hefted himself up to sit on the counter next to the sink, placing Gotham in his cross-legged lap. She attempted to slither away into the sink basin, but his arm reached across her chest to pull her back. "Not so fast," said Joker, despite her screaming and squirming to break free. He turned her around to face him as he reached in his jacket for his paints.

Bruce made it to the doorway, but Joker held up a hand to stop him. He paused, but it was certainly very difficult to stay put as he met his baby's tortured blue eyes. She kept reaching for him, screaming at him to save her from this strange man who sounded like Daddy, felt like Daddy, smelled like Daddy, acted like Daddy, but _didn't look like Daddy_.

"Look at me," Joker murmured, and upon the ever-so-familiar voice she obeyed out of timid curiosity. He had a dab of black paint on his thumb, and she watched, transfixed, as he expertly smeared it over his right eyelid, around the corners, extending its borders to the edges of the socket.

She was stunned. Still she was whimpering and hiccupping for breath, but the strange man was squeezing out more of the black paint, this time applying it to his left eye. Soon he was watching her from a pair of raccoon-rimmed eyes of familiar green. It was _so_ strangely familiar that she decided to stay and watch what was going to happen next.

A tube of ruby-red lipstick was next, which he carefully ran over both his top and bottom lips, then flecked across his pair of scars in his signature manner of careless precision. He smacked his lips together in front of her face once finished, and unconsciously she mimicked the action, round-eyed at what she was witnessing. Maybe it really _was_…could it be…?

The white base coat sealed the deal, as he slicked up his fingertips in the paint and spread the pale coloring over the rest of his face, avoiding only eyes, lips, and scars while bathing his visage in bright pallor. When his fingers were removed, it was the face of the Joker that was revealed, gazing at his daughter with a bemused smirk.

She was silent. She'd never seen him perform a magic trick quite like _this_ before.

Finally she got the nerve up to reach out, and softly touched his face. A sprinkling of white and red adorned her hand when she pulled it away. Her eyes lingered on her hand, then moved back up to stare at him.

All at once, her face broke into glee, and she laughed loudly at his face, terror all but forgotten.

Bruce relaxed into a grin at her diffused tension, and walked over to join the other two in sitting on the counter. "See?" said Joker to the girl now cuddled close to him, "it's still me. I'm still here. Did you think someone stole my voice away?" She only babbled up to him in response, but such an outlandish conclusion could have been justified _somehow_ in her little mind.

"Knowing you, you probably stole someone else's face," remarked Bruce.

Joker grinned at him. "Now _that's _something I haven't tried yet. Although, fun as it sounds, I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment." He sighed wistfully. "Maybe some other time."

Bruce shot him a wary glance out the corner of his eye at the mention of Joker's _preoccupation_. "Speaking of which…what _were_ you out doing today?"

"Some, uh…_reconnaissance_," Joker replied, his grin never fading.

"Meaning?"

"And I thought you went to _Princeton_, Mr. Wayne, didn't they teach you such a big word for your SATs?"

"I meant _where_."

Joker let his pinky finger hold Gotham up as she attempted yet another act of contortionism, bending over backward to create a bridge across the sink basin between Joker and Bruce. The newly-repainted clown chuckled. "Why, Gotham City, dear, where do you _think_? Bora Bora?" _Boring-booooring_.

Gotham looked up at him upon the mention of her name, and squealed "Ga-ta!" in an attempt to say it.

"See?" Joker squeezed his pinky against her tight grip. "Even _she_ knows where all the action really is, and she hasn't even had a _birthday_ yet."

Bruce sighed. He should've known that interrogating Joker about his next scheme would get him a frustrating zilch. He would have to anticipate it through other means. "Getting close, though. Five weeks away." The girl cooed with excitement, as if she actually understood the concept of five weeks yet. Bruce smiled, holding her head up to ensure she wouldn't fall in case Gotham couldn't hold onto Joker's pinky much longer. "Not that anyone's counting, are we?"

"Ahhh!" she protested against such a ridiculous notion, and promptly fell into the sink, whether on accident or on purpose was difficult to say. She grinned up at her parents regardless, and giggled.

"Although," Joker put in, "while I was _reconnoitering_ around, I started thinking."

Such, Bruce knew, was never a good sign, and he eyed the other carefully. "What about?"

"Just how long you think you can keep going with these…" he gestured around in the air for the word, "…_allies_ of yours. Whatever it is you're calling your little henchmen these days. Friends, comrades, what have you."

"To whom are you referring?"

"Oh, y'know," Joker shrugged, "Alfred, Mister-Commissioner, Foxy-Fox. Peanut Buttercup-"

"_Reese_."

"-whatever." The jade eyes narrowed slightly. "Miss Ex-Corp." They narrowed even further still. "_The Pussyca-t._"

"What're you implying?"

"That they won't be quite willing to _stick around _with you for long. Frankly, it's a surprise they've kept this up with you for the years they have. But come one storm too many and…" he flicked an imaginary piece of dust off his thumb with his middle finger, "…they'll skedaddle like lemmings to the water."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, Joker, but there's a reason they _haven't_ yet," Bruce retorted. "This isn't just a struggle between the two of us. You've turned it into _everyone's_ fight, and expect them all to fall to your side. But not everyone decides to pick _your_ way."

"Of _course_ they do, sweetheart," Joker leered, "it's just a matter of _time_ and _place_."

Bruce huffed in annoyance. "You obviously know nothing about loyalty."

Joker's gaze suddenly took on a look Bruce found at once repulsive and irresistible. "Oh, I know everything about _loyalty_," he said lowly. "Especially that it only exists between a person…and that person's _purpose_ in life." He held Bruce's eyes for a bit longer, then chuckled once. "Beyond that, no one ever sticks to _anything_."

He laughed again. "Think about it. Where is Miss Head right now?" That was something Bruce could honestly not answer. "And is Kitty-Cat still on your side?" Once again, Bruce was silent, and turned away.

"What about Reese's Puffs, completely prepared to rat you out to the world? Fantastic Mr. Fox, never entirely trusting your intentions? But then again, he's a _businessman, _so you can't expect too much from him. And Gordy-Gordon, who, as I recall you telling me, took a shot at you the first time you met? And what about ol' _Freddy_, all gung ho to 'call the men in white coats'?" Harvey, who can't even be called loyal to _himself_ anymore, and let's not get started on _Rach_-_"_

"As _I_ recall, Rachel left me because _you killed her_," Bruce snapped. Twelve years was time enough to numb the wound, but couldn't heal it entirely. "And how exactly does any of this prove _your_ loyalty to _me_? You've nearly _killed_ me before."

Joker rolled his eyes. "The word 'nearly' being the qualifier there, hon, and you've never complained about my methods of affection before."

"Actually, yes I have, more times than I can count."

Joker sighed in exasperated fondness, as a parent would to a messy child. "And yet you still come back for more."

"Da-da."

Both adults abruptly fell silent, their mouths still halfway opened, but their next snide remarks died out on their tongues. Their eyes fell to the girl between them, and the source of that miraculous sound they had been secretly waiting to hear for the past year.

She was grinning Bruce's grin and laughing Joker's laugh up at the two original owners' stunned faces. "Da-da!" she said again, louder this time, and reached up to their faces in triumph of finally catching their attention again.

Joker finally grinned back. "Who would've thought," he murmured as he reached to grab her hand, "you'd say your first word…while in a sink." Bruce chuckled, and grabbed her other hand. Joker looked at him. "You seem a bit _relieved_, dearest."

Bruce shook his head. "I'm just glad that _that_ was her first word."

"Oh, c'mon, Bruce, did you think I was gonna _corrupt_ her? What'd you _think_ she was gonna first say to you, ma-ma?"

"No," Bruce laughed again, "more something like boom-boom."

Joker busted out laughing at that, picked their Gotham up into his arms, and the three of them made for the elevator, the girl repeating her newly-achieved word over and over while her fathers smiled with pride.

* * *

**A/N: I AM OFFICIALLY THROUGH WITH THE WORST SCHOOL YEAR OF MY LIFE SO FAR. I HAVE THREE MONTHS OF MY OWN LIFE AGAIN. EXCUSE ME WHILE I HAPPYDANCE \O/ /O\ \O/ /O\ \O/. So what does this mean for you? Many more updates, more frequently, and just maybe by August we'll get to the dark-n-dreary cohesive plotline I keep referring to! I intend to make much more headway on this in the next three months. :)**

**Although, my main major project this summer is to write my first novel to completion, so I may become more preoccupied with that at times. Never fear, though, I won't **_**ever**_** be giving up on this story. There may be another original story on my mind at intervals, is all.**

**Though I must announce I'm leaving tomorrow morning for LA until Saturday, and it's still unclear whether I'll have free time then. So if I'm cyber-ly dead this coming week, know that's why. I have the next chapter already written (has been for a few weeks now), so I'll definitely post that Saturday night. The reason I didn't post it earlier is because it's pretty dark like Chapter 11 was, so I decided to intersperse the creepy drama with a bit of pointless fluff to keep the mood up. You're welcome. :)**


	13. Possession

Always and Always

Chapter 13: Possession

_Don't mess up_.

He turned the next corner. It had to be around here somewhere. This pursuit had gone on long enough. This time, he was sure he would find that which he sought.

He _had_ to.

The pillars passed him by, or he was passing them, both at the same time. He was on his feet, but it felt like he was gliding forward on the wings of the wind. The wind picked up from dormancy all at once, attempting to blow him off course. He kept forward.

The door was before him now; it was_ so close_. Would it be behind the door? It was supposed to be, but some inexplicable gut feeling made him doubt it. No, it _had_ to be behind there, he'd come so far already…

He squeezed between the door and the floor, through the inch of space in between. Opened his eyes. Rose up.

It wasn't there. He turned, and the room was exactly the same as the one he'd just left. This wasn't part of the plan…

He started forward again, to the door at the far end. It was dark in here, the pillars barely visible until they were a foot in front of him. He weaved around them, ready to slide underneath the door again.

Wait, what was that over there? An intuitive calling rotated his head to the left.

It was another door, one he had missed before. Or maybe it hadn't been there to start with, until he'd turned his head for it to appear.

He changed course to the new door, but a pillar fell in his way. It was a struggle to clamber over it, seeing as it was burning hot. It scorched his hands, even through his black gloves.

It didn't matter. That door was all that mattered. He would get to it, at all costs. Once he made it over the pillar he pressed on to the goal, but behind him…

The pillar was swinging toward him, ready to crush him and burn him alive. No, go faster, _the door is right there –_

He jumped, swan-dove to the floor, and flowed between door and ground just before the pillar squished him flat.

He rose. Something about his face wasn't right, but he couldn't see what. He had a powerful thought of touching it to investigate the anomaly further, but his arm wouldn't move. It froze at his side the instant he tried to raise it; all he could muster with the stiffest concentration was a barely-discernable flexing of his fingers.

That wasn't important right now. He had to find it. She was _here_, he could tell. He thanked the stars he'd seen this door when he had – otherwise it would be flat.

He moved through the room against the wall. There was a drop twenty feet past the door, and he had to find her before he reached it. Then he might be too late.

When he'd taken about seven steps, he realized what it was that felt so strange about his face: his mask. He still had it on, obviously, but it wasn't sitting quite right on his face. No, maybe not on his _face_ as much as…well…

…it was because that was all it sat upon. It hid his face and set his body free to do its work, but his mask wasn't sitting upon his soul. It wasn't bringing about that subtle change in his psyche, making him feel contained and focused. There was no distillation, no centerpiece to his mind; he was unprotected, undefined, and insubstantial.

He wasn't a symbol right now. He felt far too much like just a man. Even with the armor, he felt no removal from Bruce Wayne.

Where _was_ she?

He looked around the rest of the room for a moment. She had better not be there, across the room, or else he might not get there in time.

_There_.

He walked faster to the pale speck a few yards away from him. And faster. _And faster._

It couldn't be. He couldn't be too late –

He fell to his knees before his baby's body, unable once again to move his arms and touch her. He had to check she wasn't d - - -, but his limbs refused to obey.

Her neck was gaping open, oozing red at the throat as her larynx displayed its meat to the wide world. Her head was barely attached to her tiny body any longer. It was too late.

She was dead.

He definitely couldn't catch his breath anymore. His limbs were shaking, but he still couldn't will them into voluntary motion.

_Him._

He looked up through his blurring vision to the skull-like face towering over him, meeting the Joker's knowing smile with eyes that begged _why_.

But there was never a direct _why_ with the creature who reached down to pick up the lifeless infant by the back of her head. Her body flapped, swinging from her head like a door hinge.

He tried to reach forward to snatch her back, away from the monster of a father that had slaughtered his daughter, but just as his hands finally obeyed his commands to snap forward the Joker grabbed his throat, squeezing his breath away as the fiend roared with laughter –

– Bruce gasped awake, panting for breath into his constricted chest. His bedroom was pitch-black except for the numbers 4:39 hovering red and phantom-like in the dark surroundings. An eerie wailing reverberated in the distance.

_Just a dream, it was a dream, just a dream…_

The image of his daughter's head detaching from her neck flashed before his eyelids every time he blinked.

…_only a dream, just a dream…_

The arms encircling his chest from behind him loosened a bit, stirring to movement as his bedmate slid back into consciousness. Joker hummed lowly as he woke, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he tuned in to the bawling baby down the hall who had woken them both.

"I'll get it," he mumbled, still sleep-foggy, into Bruce's ear, and disentwined his limbs from the other's body. He swung his legs out from under the blankets and to the floor, feeling for cloth until he pinched his boxers between his toes, grabbed them and stood to put them on. Bruce was still fighting for a normal rhythm of breathing, his limbs still petrified and aching from his nightmare. He didn't dare move an inch, lest any motion bring the source of the terror back to reality.

Joker left down the hall, leaving Bruce alone with his subconscious. His hands were fisted deep into the sheets, and he tried to focus on just loosening them, _relaxing_ them. After some time, it worked to calm his heart rate down a degree, but he still couldn't shake the dulled visions of infanticide from his brain. It had been so _real_.

He shakily sat up, reached on the floor for his own boxers, slid into them and sat still for a moment. His fingers pressed into his temples, trying to knead the panic out of his head. _It wasn't real. Dead babies don't cry._

The crying grew louder, and the light suddenly flicked on in the room. Bruce immediately squinted, and looked up to Joker sitting back down on the bed, the wailing four-week-old Gotham in his arms.

"Shhhshshsh, what's the matter?" Joker asked her, stroking her head. "Something scare you in your sleep?" Bruce watched them both, the hairs rising on his arms at the disconcerting image of Joker holding her so close to him.

"Why don't you tell Daddy all about it, hmm?" Joker murmured. He laid his head on top of Gotham's. "Tell me what's so scary, okay?"

Bruce's previously-calmed heartbeat was racing again. Joker's hand slid down the back of her head, awfully close to her neck –

"I don't think it's so scary as all _that_, is it? You know what I think?" He moved his head further down to whisper in her ear. "I think you're _stronger_ than the scary stuff."

Her crying was dying down a little, but her volume into Joker's chest was still staggering as his hand rested right below her head. Bruce's eyes were transfixed on the hand, his heart roaring in his ears.

"I think you can beat them, don't you?"

"Give her to me," Bruce said lowly, but his unused voice wasn't cooperating with making his words clear. Joker's hand was on the back of her neck again, weaving through the sparse dark blonde hairs there.

"_I_ think," he whispered, looking down at her with rapt attention, "you can _tear them apart._"

Tear them apart. His hand was on her neck. He could snap it, squeeze it, _he could tear Gotham apart – _

"Give her to me," Bruce snapped. Joker started at the sudden command, and the tensing muscles she was pressed against made Gotham bawl louder again. Joker looked questioningly at Bruce, but Bruce's eyes were hard and uncompromising.

Joker still didn't move, both taken aback and defensive. Protective against whatever was lurking in Bruce's thoughts. His arms tensed tighter, holding her closer. But eventually, his curiosity of the other man's aggression over such a trivial issue got the better of him.

Still with a lingering air of hesitation, Joker passed her over to Bruce. Her warm, beating body was in the Bat's arms again, and he held her so close to him, shushing Gotham himself. The minutes passed. He looked at the little one's face again, attempting to assuage his mind's tricks on him that, even though she was crying, she was _alive_. She was _his_ again.

Joker watched him from a distance that felt vaster than the few feet it actually spanned. His eyes narrowed, attempting to decipher this new puzzle of the Bat's behavior that had been thrown at him. He wasn't quite sure yet why it mattered so much to Bruce who was the one to hold her…or, for that matter, why it was suddenly starting to matter to _him_…

Gotham was gentle again after a time, only sniffling softly. It wasn't clear if her calming down was due to the efforts of her fathers, or if she had simply tired herself out from her wild hysterics. Either way, she soon became sedate and still in Bruce's arms, and once she was at least on the verge of sleep again, he rose to take her back to her crib.

Joker trailed his gaze after him, wondering just what exactly it was that had invaded Bruce's head tonight. He settled back onto the pillows and sprawled out on his back to think more comfortably, absently tracing the "B & J" bullet hole design in the ceiling with his eyes as he did so. He had been in this very position when he'd made that, struck by a whim while, as he was now, waiting for Bruce to return.

His hands folded on his scar-mottled chest, and Bruce reentered the bedroom, shutting the door with a disheartened thud. He crossed the room and disappeared into the bathroom. Joker waited, the sound of the faucet trickling into his ears.

Bruce splashed his face twice, three times, trying to wash the unholy images from his eyelids. But the lurid thoughts lingered. The little baby he'd just put back to bed, held up in front of his face with her throat cut, hanging open for him to see –

He shuddered, and toweled his face off. He didn't look at Joker as he walked back into the bedroom, simply continued to the door to switch the lights off, thankful that the temporary blindness rendered him physically unable to meet the green eyes. Joker felt the mattress dip as Bruce returned to bed, but he wasn't lying back down. He sat on the edge, hand holding his bowed forehead, trying to forget. It shouldn't be bothering him so much, for it was just a dream. A terrible, horrible dream.

But he knew the real reason why it was having such a profound effect on him was because it reflected a lurking, very real fear, one that was always at the heels of the genesis of the idea that had become the girl down the hall.

A feather-like sensation flitted across his bare back, and he tensed at Joker's touch. Joker, eyes like slits in the dark, sat up and continued rubbing up and down the scar-ridged surface. Bruce took a deep breath under his palm, then another. Still he didn't make any move to actively acknowledge Joker's presence.

Arms wrapped around him then, the hand replaced with a toned chest, and calm, grounding breath whirred in his right ear. Bruce felt his body instinctively relaxing at the well-known feel of his lover against him. A sigh escaped him. Somehow, he sensed Joker knew.

His eyes fell closed, to find that the sights branded into his lids were blunted, but still pained his heart. His head sank into Joker's shoulder, nestled on his collarbone, and the arms held him tighter.

"She's half me, and half _you_," Joker murmured against Bruce's forehead. "You _know_ I'd do no such thing." A deep exhale left Bruce's nose.

Scarred lips met Bruce's forehead, held there for several seconds before gently pulling away. Fingertips lightly brushed down his cheek. He breathed in Joker's scent at his neck, letting the familiarity spread back to him.

Joker's arms guided Bruce back down to the bed, left him only for a moment to throw the covers over them both, and then returned to hold him to his chest. After a few minutes, Bruce's arms stirred to cling closer to his unpredictable foe, before he nodded off into an untroubled slumber.


	14. A Piercing Suggestion

Always and Always

Chapter 14: A Piercing Suggestion

**Here is my product of a plane ride back home a month ago, a month's worth of sleeping and shriveling my life away, and a frenzied July night and day attempting to win a contest with my dear Joker-wife, Kayliana. We were both working on the next chapters of our respective fics tonight, and decided to have a B/J-wife contest to see who could finish first. And I, the Bat-wife, lost. Because I fell asleep. So Joker-wife won this round, as you can tell by the lovely "An Offer He Couldn't Refuse" sitting nice and newly-updated beneath my own fic. Seriously, check hers out too if you're into Batman/Joker (which I'm assuming you are, reading anything that comes out of MY keyboard and onto this site). She is full of all the epic Bat/Clown goodness you could ever want, and her current fic is a truly HILARIOUS read. Love ya, honey! :)**

**But anyway, I've realized that I've never written an in-depth Bruce-at-a-party scene, and as everyone knows, some of the best scenes take place there. ("You're gonna love me," anyone?) True, this is not one of those scenes, but I still hope you enjoy what happens after the party. :) So here goes, three weeks and a bit after Gotham's birth. :D**

* * *

The night was still young with the scent of reserved-label wine, name-brand perfumes, and scarcely-suppressed hormones as Bruce Wayne neared the Preston estate. He hoped tonight would be quick and at least somewhat painless, but that was a bit much to hope for. Most likely, the evening would drag on through one pretend drunken haze after another, as he attached a person of silicone implants and dollar-signed pupils onto his arm for a decent tabloid story.

For a fleeting second he entertained the notion of his middling age repelling the debutantes, allowing him to spend a mandatory night showing his face in a semblance of peace. The thought left as soon as it came.

For he was Bruce Wayne.

If his name didn't take care of attracting prospective mates, the $7.6 billion attributed to it certainly would.

He sighed inwardly as he stepped out of the Mercedes, handing the keys and a few fifties to the valet with a canned smile. If the world were entirely up to him and his name entirely inconsequential, he would have spent tonight patrolling the streets a bit further, instead of Alfred keeping tabs on the city from the cave at home.

At least, that was what his sense of duty told him he _should_ want above all else, and he truly did wish for it a great deal. But what his heart told him he wanted even more, even _beyond_ a night as Batman, was a night in the role of father to which he was becoming accustomed, and especially in the role of lover with which he was becoming quite exhilaratingly reacquainted.

But no, tonight the role of happy-go-lucky billionaire ladies' man was the order of the evening. And so Bruce started up the steps to the grand entryway, preparing for the first of the socialites to descend upon him.

"Mr. Wayne!"

Right on schedule.

Bruce quickly prepared his signature grin and turned over his shoulder. Sure enough, it was the Pierce family, perhaps his least favorite among his many sycophants. Nonetheless, civility preceded all feelings of ill will among Gotham's upper crust, so he kept his grin frozen in place. An action, Bruce knew, that would most likely be sustained the entire night.

"Mr. Wayne, I wasn't expecting to meet you so early in the evening! What a happy coincidence!" crowed a buxom, beige-gowned Mrs. Pierce, the ringleader of the clan. As usual, heavy gold dangled off her earlobes, completing the ostentatious pinup of a hairdo. Bruce prayed he wouldn't age quite as disgracefully as the woman had by the time _he_ turned sixty-eight.

"What a coincidence, indeed," Bruce replied, pausing to let the family of three catch up to him. He noticed the three eldest daughters were absent from the group, leaving only the youngest, a slim little blonde with a shy smile and too much lipstick. Thank God she was the last – Bruce was getting tired of deflecting every new Pierce princess that their mother threw at him. Perhaps tonight would be their last full measure, and he would never have to tastefully endure their forced flirting with him again.

"Now, I don't know what to say first, Bruce, there's so many things to discuss – the takeoff of Wayne Airlines, the Kord Enterprises buyout, the renovation of Gotham Square – oh, where are my manners? Congratulations on the _adoption_! Wonderful news when I heard it, simply _divine_ work, that is. Who knows where the poor girl would have ended up if she'd been dropped off on anyone else's doorstep, but thank goodness she's in safe hands now! Am I right?"

Bruce laughed with her, trying to simultaneously remove his hand from her strangling grip and not let the pain show on his face.

"You simply _must_ tell me all about her. Now, I know being a first-time father can be a bit of a hurdle at the start – why, just look at David here, you should have seen the first time he tried to change Marjorie's diaper! Simply _dreadful_, that man was, though I suppose he got the hang of it by the time Mallory came around. She made it easy, though, sweet as a little _angel_, she was as a babe, and still is, as long as you keep her away from the powdered sugar! Am I right, cupcake?"

Both Mallory and David Pierce were quite red in the face, though it seemed they were quite practiced at fighting it off, and gave the most indiscernible laughs that looked more like grimaces. All was drowned out by Mrs. Pierce's tittering, anyway.

"I do hope she's healthy though, your girl, it would be something _dreadful_ if her parents left her due to some horrible disease or impairment. Then again, I suppose you would have sent her to an orphanage if she had, am I right?"

They had almost made it inside, and Bruce wished he could will the entourage to move forward just a little bit faster, bringing the vultures of the party guests upon them as a welcome relief instead of their usual suffocating effects.

"And oh," she held out a pudgy arm to block his step into the front doors, much to Bruce's dismay, "what was it you named her, again? Something unique…Gwendolyn? Guinevere?"

"Gotham, actually."

He was almost pleased to see her face fall from its security; it was an unusual name, to be sure, but he was starting to understand the pride Joker took in comprehending the inner workings of their bond far beyond anyone else could ever hope to. Such a flare of pride came forth in his heart as he watched the dithering fade away for a split second, the moment of confusion that flashed on the ignorant woman's face just before she could mask it.

"Oh…" she stumbled, attempting to find her words again. A moment later she found them, as they never forsook her for long. "…well, isn't that grand! Named after the city she's safe from, now that you've rescued her! What a mighty fine idea, just fine that is! Don't you agree, Mallory?" Mallory nodded meekly. "In fact, why don't you two go off to discuss that – that _illustrious_ choice of a name over dinner together? You two would have a marvelous time of it, I'm sure, am I righ-"

"Mr. Wayne, congratulations!"

"Just heard about it in this morning's paper, it's truly a heroic thing you're doing!"

"The girl's doing well, I hope?"

Finally, the fawning socialites had met their prey. Bruce gladly detached himself from the Pierces, letting them get lost among the river of guests that now pooled around him. The babbling safely behind him, he proceeded to shake hand after hand, giving the obligatory answers to obligatory questions. At least the automatic atmosphere kept him away from fending off the verbal freight train of Mrs. Pierce.

"She's doing very well, thank you, Mr. Rosewood."

"Excellent to hear, Wayne. And I swear, in the paper, she looks just like you!"

"Well, you know me, Mr. Lovecroft; I just end up rubbing off on everyone."

A smattering of laughter. Good, good. All under control. Business as usual. They ate out of his palm no matter what he told them, and while he hated the fact from the distant Bat's eye view he beheld the situation from, it was still a necessary performance.

"And there he is," boomed a vibrant voice at his left. "Bruce Wayne. Gotham's son, the man himself!"

"Mr. Preston," he beamed with the strong handshake offered to him. "Please, don't flatter me all at once; you'll have all night to do that."

A slanted grin, a clouded look in his eyes that gave the impression of before-party drinking, and the mirage was complete. Mr. Preston laughed heartily at the comment, also giving off the vibe of hitting the booze beforehand, though between the two of them, Bruce could tell who was doing the faking and who wasn't.

The balding old man shook his head. "I'm not finished with you just yet, Wayne. Who would have thought? Why, tonight, I've seen it all. Wayne the Disappearing Act, Wayne the Resurrected, Wayne the, ah, Business Connoisseur, and now…" he clapped Wayne the Secret Vigilante and Gay Lover on the shoulder, "…Wayne the Family Man!"

Bruce chuckled once. "It's been known to happen to the worst of us."

A familiar tittering suddenly rang out from a group in the vicinity of his left, and it was getting closer, he could tell. Although he could have easily avoided the _piercing_ presence by utilizing any number of methods learned from the League of Shadows, fate allowed Bruce a subtler method by gracing his peripheral right with a figure far more welcoming. "It's an incredible turnout, Mr. Preston, but if you'll excuse me, there's a pressing matter I've been meaning to discuss with my CEO, so if you don't mind-"

"Oh, of course, Bruce, right away! I do hope you'll enjoy yourself tonight."

"I'm sure I will."

"But not too much!"

The last comment was met with a light laugh, and Bruce disengaged fully, seeking the quietude of a less crowded alcove. Lucius picked up on the hint, and sidled over next to him.

"So, Mr. Wayne, if there really _is_ a matter of urgency that needs discussing, feel free to get that over with first," he said quietly, looking out at the crowd.

Bruce smiled, observing the guests himself with a sharp eye. "Nothing urgent, Mr. Fox, except for avoiding a rather…_piercing_ matchmaker."

Upon picking said mother-turned-matchmaker out of the crowd, Lucius' eyebrows rose to his equally-gray hairline. "I see your point." Both men smirked. (1)

"But if there's anything else in the world you'd like to discuss, Lucius, please, by all means."

"Well, if you'll forgive me for playing the part of a broken record, though I assure you I ask from sincere curiosity rather than the sake of small talk…" he slid his eyes to Bruce's, "…how is Gotham?"

"The city or the person?"

Lucius laughed. "The younger."

"That still depends. When she's asleep or awake?"

They both laughed at that. "Oh, I remember those days. Tam kept me up all hours of the night."

Bruce turned to him. "And how is Tamara?"

Lucius shrugged. "The same. Angel one minute, throwing a temper tantrum the next."

"Just like Gotham, then."

"The city or the person?"

Bruce laughed in earnest. "Both."

For the moment Mrs. Pierce was successfully unable to be pinpointed by either leader of Wayne Enterprises, so Bruce took the opportunity to do something he rarely afforded himself to do at these events. He relaxed.

"I suppose Alfred's with her now?" Lucius asked, noticing Bruce's slightly slackened demeanor.

Bruce nodded. "And I wish him the best of luck." It would have been nice to have Alfred with him tonight, as he would certainly have indulged in the duty of fending off Mrs. Pierce with his one joke. However, his three-week-old daughter required a babysitter, and seeing how utilizing a bored psychopath as a perfectly acceptable alternative required explaining to Alfred exactly how the baby _was_ Bruce's biological relation, which involved detailing the genesis of thought processes that led him to the decision to mix Thomas and Martha Wayne's DNA with that of a misanthropic killer…

…the butler was the man for the job.

"Don't get me wrong, though, things do get easier," Lucius interrupted Bruce's reverie. "She'll get more manageable. Just more complicated at the same time."

"That's reassuring to hear."

"And the best part is…"

"…it's worth it."

Both didn't bother hiding smiles. "Every minute of it."

As if on cue, the dithering shrill was back again, inching ever closer to the pair. Bruce turned to Lucius. "Don't worry; you don't have to make up an excuse. I might as well get this over with."

Lucius nodded. "It's not in its usual context, Mr. Wayne, but for what it's worth: good luck."

Bruce strained a smile and left his friend's side, ready to confront the babbling lady in beige.

"Bruce, Bruce, _Bruce_!" she crowed when she had finally caught up to him, and quite absurdly, Bruce's memory chose to dredge up a similar sound in a vastly different context, involving a makeup-smeared clown beneath him, chanting that same name on his lips as he hurtled them both closer and closer to the edge and beyond…

The fact he'd made the comparison at all was too disturbing for him, but he fended off the urge to shudder in revulsion; he'd experienced far worse. However, not much else was currently competing with enduring her prattling banter that he was only paying half-attention to.

That is, until he realized just how quiet she was behaving – well, quieter than her usual self, anyway. A hand on his arm, she was steering him away into the alcove that Lucius had just vacated.

"Now, dear, don't take any of this the wrong way; I am _not_ criticizing any of your actions in the slightest." Whenever this woman actively controlled her volume, it sounded like a whisper in contrast. "After all, who better to take in a young one with absolutely no prospects for the future, am I right?" There was that laugh again. "She'd have been left to freeze to death out there without you; why, at least her parents were half in their wasted minds enough to bring her to a good home, instead of trying to raise her themselves! Would have been simply _dreadful_, it would have, and what then? Who knows what sort of life she'd live then, and quite frankly, we have quite enough individuals in this town with, ah…_unstable_ minds, to put it lightly, if you know what I mean." Another laugh. Bruce indulged her with a slight chuckle in return, though its authenticity was aided by his own dry amusement at the observation that the two most unstable minds in the city _were_ in fact raising his girl.

"But Bruce, I know you only want what's best for her, so enough beating around the bush, no?"

He tried not to let his thoughts show on his face, but wasn't sure if he'd caught his expression in time. _Had he just heard Mrs. Pierce say "enough beating around the bush"?_

"Let's face it – there _is_ one thing you'll never be able to provide the girl with on your own."

His eyes met hers then – _really_ met hers, instead of the occasional obligated glances every so often to hold the illusion of paying attention. "Which is…?"

He should have seen her answer coming, should have foreseen where she was attempting to bring the conversation, but the implications still did a number on him. She looked him square in the eye, mustered up as much meaning in her gaze that her sips of champagne would allow her, and answered with two very simple, very true words.

"_A mother._"

The suggestion pierced straight through to the Bruce behind the mask, and it took him a second to recover with the adjustment of Wayne's easygoing ignorance. "I assure you, Mrs. Pierce, I'm more than prepared to meet any and all of Gotham's needs, now and in the years to come. And I'm not alone in raising her, in fact, right now Alfred's with her-"

"Who?"

"Alfred, my butler. You've met him at least four times."

"Oh, how silly of me, I don't recall!" There went that dismissive laugh again, and this time it ground at Bruce's nerves even more so than usual. "But anyway, Bruce, I still _implore_ you to see reason that you may need a bit more help in raising the girl. Now, as I said, I am in no way doubting your abilities as a parent – you'll make a truly fine father, you really will! But all I'm suggesting is that, well, let's be plain about it. Gender _does_ play a role."

As mystifying as he found his behavior to be, Bruce found himself tuning in to her words quite attentively. "How do you mean?"

She beamed wider at having him a captive audience, unknowing that the Scarecrow and Poison Ivy would have killed for such an accomplishment themselves. "If you don't mind, let me ask you something a bit personal, Bruce: when you were growing up, you had a role model, didn't you?"

Okay, _now_ she was just pushing her luck with the sudden intimacy of the conversation. Bruce quickly retreated into his mental shell again; playboy aside, he really didn't feel like discussing such tender subjects with this woman. He settled for an offhand "Of course I did."

"Yes, of course you did. But then, tell me, what gender was that role model?"

He blinked, and an image of a stethoscope blinked with him. "Male."

"Exactly, Bruce, exactly! Ask any man here the same two questions, and they will answer the same. Then, ask any _woman_ here, and you'll find that each and every one of them will answer the latter with 'female'! It's simple psychology, Bruce: we see ourselves in the shoes of those we _can_ one day become."

"As logical as that sounds, Mrs. Pierce, I'm not sure that's entirely the issue at hand-"

"Oh, believe you me, Bruce; it is the _entire_ issue at hand. Whether she knows it or not, from the day your girl took her first breath, she has been looking for _someone_ to emulate. Someone like _her_self, and who one day _she_ will strive to become. And Bruce, though she'll learn to love you and care for you much as you have her, she will never catch herself thinking that she wants to _be_ you one day."

In an astonishing change of atmosphere, she laughed again. "Why, look at my own Mallory here!" she exclaimed, beckoning her wandering daughter over closer, much to the blonde's dismay at being spotted. "When she was eight years old, why, one day she came running up to me proclaiming she wanted to be Britney Spears when she grew up!" The laughter was loud and long, and Mallory's blush only deepened with every pierce.

Bruce was about to point out that Mallory _had_ grown up with a female role model, and wondered just what that implied about Mrs. Pierce's mothering methods, but at that moment Mr. Preston had begun ushering the crowd to dinner.

"But really, Bruce, please give the matter some thought. I'd hate to see her growing up with any sort of imbalance in her life, and believe me when I say, without a mother figure, there's no telling what wild thoughts might run through a young girl's head. In fact, I'm sure Mallory could tell you all about what I mean, am I right? Why don't you two sit together and talk about it over dinner? No, I really must insist, and look, there's two empty seats right there, what a happy coincidence!"

Mallory was humbly submitting to her mother's demands, and Bruce made the decision to honor the lady's request, as well. Not only would it fulfill his agenda of stirring up the tabloids with another front page – masking any prying eyes from the scant pictures of Gotham Wayne, in case any similarities were noticed between her and the baby Harley had given birth to – but it would also end this courtship ritual with the Pierces once and for all. With four daughters after his ring finger, he was starting to worry that Joker might take the hint and do something _really_ horrible to the family, something Bruce wasn't about to enable by prolonging the involvement.

As dinner was served, Mr. Preston rose from his seat, and lifted his glass in a toast. "I'd like to thank you all for coming, one and all! It's been quite the turnout, and it wouldn't be possible without each and every one of you. So as we all sit here, and celebrate the new horizons that Preston Consulting will be reaching with this joyous new partnership with KaneTech, I would like to remind all of you that your company, here, is more precious than all the sums in the world. Good thing, too, since these things are about as cheap as they are easy to pull off, though our good friend Mr. Wayne may lead you to believe otherwise."

Everyone laughed, and turned in Bruce's direction. Without missing a beat, he raised his glass as well. "That's very kind, Mr. Preston, but my philosophy has always been a simple one: as long as we have booze and a few slippery wedding rings, we can make anything possible."

The comment was scandalous enough to cause an uproar of laughter even greater than the first. In the far corner of his awareness that he watched the situation from, he coldly observed the mind-boggling truth that these people were so buzzed and morally loose that Bruce Wayne could get away with condoning _drunken exploits of adultery_ and still be met with warm-hearted enthusiasm. Such was his brazen reputation – crude statements were all but expected. Although, he idly mused as an afterthought, the comment had probably hit home with at least half the party guests, so the laughter was as much medicinal as it was reactionary.

"Hear, hear!" cried Mr. Preston, "I think that deserves a toast as well. To our favorite son, Bruce Wayne!"

"To Bruce!" answered the giggling guests, and all but the toastee took a sip. Even if he _did_ drink, his own health wasn't something very useful to drink to, considering the dangerous life he led.

And so the dinner began. All the while, Mallory didn't say a word. By the time the second course arrived, Bruce was wondering if she'd ever had the chance to get a word in edgewise when she was growing up, and now she didn't know what to do with the opportunity when it was given. Not that he would have minded the silence any other night, but he was in fact genuinely curious as to another's views concerning the topic her mother had presented.

"So, about what your mother said…"

She looked up at him, startled that _the_ Bruce Wayne was addressing _her_ directly. Her mind nearly blanked, he could tell, until she quickly asked, "About Britney Spears?"

He laughed, and she timidly smiled in response, though she still blushed slightly at her answer. "Not that specifically. No, I meant what she said about…every young girl needing a mother."

She chewed her next bite of salmon thoughtfully. "Well…I guess it makes sense. But maybe it's not quite as literal as she meant, how a girl needs a _mother_. It's more…needing a mother _figure_. A female influence of some kind." She shrugged again, nearly too quick for a normal shrug, in case he'd berate her for such a gesture. "I'm not an expert on these things, of course, but I do know that a girl having a mother, or a boy having a father, is very important."

Bruce's gaze slid away from hers momentarily, and astonishingly enough, her next stammered apology pinned the reason for it on the head exactly. "I-I'm so sorry! Look at me, and look at everyone, really, though I guess with the adoption it can't be helped. But still, all these people talking about parents and role models, when you and…and your parents…it's just that it's…" she was faltering, clearly quite ill-equipped to handle such oppressive topics, "…it's been so long ago, I guess, that lots of people have forgotten it. I-I'm sorry…"

Bruce had returned to eating. Mallory floundered. "This is stupid, why am I even talking about this? You probably don't want to." If she had expected him to respond with _Oh no, it's fine, I've been meaning to talk about this with someone for some time_ and proceed to have an open heart-to-heart with her about the defining moment of his past, culminating with him sweeping her off her feet and whisking her away to a private room for the most passionate lovemaking of their lives, she was sorely disappointed.

Because Bruce completely agreed with her.

He _didn't_ want to talk about it.

And so the matter was dropped, and the next few minutes passed in silence, awkward for one and brooding for the other.

Clearly she sensed they had gotten off on the wrong foot, and she tried to steer the conversation away from the unfortunate topic after a time. "Though, I _do_ know how much girls love spending time with other girls. That is, girls with the right female guardians." Her eyes caught a glimpse of her mother across the room, who was staring at the two of them like a vulture. Upon meeting her daughter's eye contact, Mrs. Pierce raised her eyebrows expectantly, her meaning quite plain: _What is taking you so long?_

Mallory hurriedly cleared her throat. "I mean, I've worked babysitting jobs for years, when I'm not helping my father at the bank, and I've learned all sorts of things about little girls! All ages too, so I'd like to think that…I'd be quite prepared when I become a mother myself one day."

He turned to her then as dessert was served, noticing how she was watching him beneath fake lashes, how her body was turned coyly in his direction, how she attempted to lean closer and expose more of her breasts from the lavender neckline. Although it was an act he was going to play along with up to a certain point, he still couldn't quite shake the nagging voice in his head that _you're betraying him_.

"I've always loved children," Mallory continued. The light innocence of her tone of voice quite contrasted with the obvious move she was pulling on him, but either its intent was further seduction or she wasn't aware of the fact. Either way, he let her carry on. "They're…such a light in our lives, you know? I really enjoy taking care of little ones. In fact, if you ever needed any help…"

His hand suddenly felt a warm pressure covering it, and looking down, it was because she had placed hers on top of his. He let her. Might as well give the poor thing a chance.

"…I would be happy to meet Gotham, and get to know her. She sounds like a little angel." He realized then he'd never said a word to her directly about what Gotham was like, but he let it slide. "So if you ever need a babysitter, or as we called it, a, ah, _female influence_, don't hesitate to…call me up."

She was leaning quite close to him now, evidencing the copious amounts of time her mothers and sisters had coached her with procuring the first kiss from the man. But for some reason, Bruce didn't move. Instead, he mimicked her smile, which sent a flurry of tickles through her stomach.

"Well, I greatly appreciate that, Mallory, that's very generous of you."

Her face flickered with just the slightest bit of hesitation, betraying her worry at having made a wrong move. In search of the only brand of support she could find when in doubt, her eyes flashed to her mother. Mrs. Pierce was making urging expressions at her that looked quite like painful spasms to an onlooker, but she then mouthed _Go, go, hurry up!_ to her daughter.

"It's not every day that a new father gets such an offer like that…"

_DO SOMETHING, _Mrs. Pierce was bellow-mouthing to her, and slapped the table for emphasis. Mallory panicked. Bruce Wayne was so close to her, he was saying _something_ to her, but oh, Mother, _what do I do?_

"…which is very kind of you, s-"

He could not go on any further as the flustered little blonde flung herself at him, lips meeting his own in a blind panic. Though he had seen it coming at some point tonight, the abrupt attack from the young lady caught him quite off-guard, justifying his widening eyes as his words were lost on her tongue.

She hummed quite loudly against him, hands grasping onto his shoulders, quite unaware of the scene she was making, and Bruce had a split second to decide what to do with the situation. In the end, he decided to do what Bruce Wayne the Ladies' Man would do. He went with it.

The minute he let his eyes fall shut and his hands clutch her wrists, she took the opportunity to pounce. Quite literally. Barely conscious of what she was doing, she stood up, taking him with her, leaning against him, wrapping her arms even further around his neck and humming again. His hands had no choice but to be shaken from their grip on her wrists, and fell instead to her elbows, with the intent unclear of either pulling her closer, pushing her away, or just keeping her still.

If there were any light conversations going on around the tables that boxed the banquet hall, they were quite handily halted by the sudden display. Indeed, Mr. Preston's Russian bankers joke was interrupted mid-punchline by the spectacle. Mrs. Pierce gaped open-mouthed, not entirely sure if the plan to ultimately cement her family's good name was succeeding or not.

Especially when Mallory pushed Bruce backward onto the table, nearly climbing on top of him and ravaging his mouth desperately. Bruce had no idea what she was doing and he suspected that neither did she. Though he had to admire her candor, he was most certainly not prepared to have sex with her in public. In fact, he was quite unprepared – in more ways than one – to have sex with her at all.

For some inexplicable reason (or perhaps it was not nearly as mysterious as he made it out to be), as she ran her hands through his hair and pressed him down into the table with her lips and body, he could barely fight down a smile at imagining the Joker doing exactly this to him in public. He had a feeling that when he read about this in the tabloids – provided that he didn't pay an unwelcome visit to Mallory and bring a knife along – the Joker would find the embarrassing situation incredibly amusing.

Perhaps Mallory abruptly became aware of the incredible fool she'd made of herself, or perhaps she'd suddenly taken the hint that if she escalated things further she'd be signing her own death warrant with a smile carved into her face. Either way, out of the blue, her lips stopped, her hands stopped, and she shakily relinquished Bruce's mouth. He looked up at her, and she was trembling. Absolutely _mortified_.

The room was silent. She couldn't bear to leave his eyes, for that would mean facing everyone else, so she gripped his gaze with hers for as long as time allowed. Soon, however, she had no choice, and looked to the shocked faces of Gotham's elite, all staring at her. Just not for the reason she'd dreamed of for months.

If Bruce had thought she couldn't get any redder when her mother spoke about her, he was clearly proven wrong now. Her face was as ripe as a strawberry, brown eyes fearfully darting from one stunned face to the next, all judgmental, all unyielding.

With a terrified squeak, she darted away into the bathroom. Bruce was alone on the table.

He nonchalantly picked himself back up onto his feet, swept some caviar from his sleeve, slicked his hair back once, twice. Upon the second swipe, he turned, and widened his eyes, as if noticing for the first time that he was the center of everyone's attention. Pigheaded and ignorant as always.

His eyes found Mr. Preston, who was nearly as horrified as Mallory had been, as it was _his_ party, and he had been the one to toast the man who'd most likely ruined it. However, Bruce slid him an easy grin, and the playboy's hand smoothly found the glass of champagne he'd been feigning sips from the entire night.

"I stand corrected, Mr. Preston," he said, raising his glass to the man. "When neither one has wedding rings, it only takes a little booze." And with that he faked another hearty swig of alcohol, to the relieved laughter and scattered clapping of the entire room. Once again, Bruce Wayne had outdone himself in drunken idiocy, as was to be expected. Any blame was to be hefted entirely on his shoulders, not on the Prestons' or the Pierces', and how could Gotham's Favored Son be truly blamed for anything serious?

The night went on in full swing, making it through dessert without any further fiascos, and Bruce didn't see Mallory for the rest of the night until he was leaving. He was bidding Lucius goodnight (receiving only a pair of raised eyebrows and a disbelieving smirk in response, before shaking his head and leaving, chuckling to himself) when the Pierces intercepted Mr. Wayne's walk to the valet.

"Bruce! There you are; I hoped we hadn't missed you!" Mrs. Pierce rang out to the midnight air.

Just as he had nearly five hours earlier, he prepared his best Bruce Wayne smile and turned to greet them in kind. "Wonderful party, wasn't it?"

"Oh, it was grand, just grand!" He didn't miss the strain in her voice, which may have amused him at her situation had he not been so urgent to get home to a certain pattern of DNA now residing in two people's blood. "I do hope you had a good time tonight as well, Mr. Wayne."

He could take the hint, but he didn't feel like engaging in this banter for much longer. "Yes, well, it was a long night, so I'd best be getting h-"

"Oh, of course, I completely understand, but before you do, Mallory wanted to speak to you, am I right? Go ahead, dear."

Mallory was nudged forward, and tearstains still streaked her face, though she'd done her best to wash them all away. "I…I hope that you- that you'll…if you ever want to-t-to take me up on that offer I told you about…"

She held up her hand to him in an obvious position for him to kiss it, but instead he simply shook it, making her face fall further. He _would_ have done so, considering all she'd been through tonight, if he weren't so preoccupied with another person's skin that he very much wanted to be kissing at present. "I'll definitely keep it in mind, Mallory," he said, smiling at her one last time. He bade the rest of them a quick goodnight, pressed a few more fifties into the valet's pocket, took his keys, and with that, he was gone, out of the Pierces' lives for good.

David Pierce went to the valet next, and was assured a long wait, for he didn't have the friskiness with fifties that the previous customer had had. As they waited, Mallory watched the black Mercedes-Benz disappear into the night, attempting to avoid her mother's eye contact for as long as she could.

"Who kissed who?"

Busted. Mallory glanced down at the peep toes of her shoes. "Mother, I – I don't-"

"I know damn well what we're going to tell the Gotham Inquirer, Mallory Jean, but I want to hear it from _your_ mouth, since it was what did the deed. _Who. Kissed. Who?_"

Mallory's tears were threatening to return to her eyes, but she blinked them away quickly. "…I did…" she finally whispered, barely audible.

"You did _what?_"

"I kissed…I kissed him…"

"And _what_ was the plan tonight? What has _always _been the plan?"

"For…for him to kiss…me…"

"But _what_ happened tonight?"

"I panicked! I didn't know what to do, and he wasn't going to, so I just thought I'd-"

"Oh, _Ma_llory…" Mrs. Pierce sighed. "Now do you know what I mean when I say 'this is what happens when you _think_'?" Her daughter nodded meekly, and the woman in beige turned back to the disappearing car. "You know, he bedded your sister, Melody."

"I know, Mother…"

"Why you can't do just as well, if not better…you know, you're one of the prettier girls out of you and your sisters. And we worked so hard on your _nose-_"

"Melody slept with him once, ten years ago, Mother! Maybe…" she paused, casting about for a suitable excuse for Bruce. "…maybe he just…moved on…"

"Ha!" Mrs. Pierce barked. "Moved on? Is that what you just said? Look, Mallory," she slid an arm around her daughter's waist, inviting her closer. "I've been around men like Bruce Wayne my whole life. Men who move through women as easily as skipping hopscotch. And let me tell you, honey, they may move on from woman to woman, but from _women_, as a _collective_, they _never_, as you put it, 'move on.'"

Mallory was trembling slightly in her mother's grasp, and her tears were silently returning. Mrs. Pierce rolled her eyes, then patted the lavender-draped shoulder. "Oh, don't beat yourself up about it, girl. I say all that, but I swear, if he didn't accept a kiss from your pretty face…" she turned back to stare down the road, "…I'm not sure _who_ Bruce Wayne would accept a kiss from."

xxx

Bruce Wayne accepted the kiss from the Joker with far more enthusiasm than was probably anticipated by either of them. Neither one was complaining, however, as they tore at each other's mouths, blood just adding to the reeling taste and swirling of their essences, clothes becoming so difficult to remove as quickly as they'd like that it seemed the articles were glued to their skin. The struggle to undress each other was frantic, messy, neither one lucid enough to coordinate the actions into an efficient team effort, so Bruce just settled for biting Joker's neck raw for the time being, slapping a large hand onto the other's ass, and grinding their hips together with rabid snarls and deep moans.

"C'mon, Bat," Joker grunted with more Batman in his throaty voice than usual, and at the nickname he'd been deprived of for five hours and _only_ ever heard from this man, _his_ man, Bruce growled thunderously against the neck clamped between his teeth and loped himself forward and Joker backward, not even taking the time to have Joker acknowledge the bed at the back of his knees before careening them both onto it. He smothered the other's body, hearts racing and bodies burning, and raised his head for another vicious entanglement of tongues and teeth. At the contact, he and Joker both arched into each other simultaneously, drawing out another long-lived groan as their hips squeezed together like fire.

Joker's hand tugged on his tie, pulling him closer, then when that didn't suffice groped the back of his neck, and finally he yanked at what he _really_ wanted, clamping a vicegrip with both hands and heels on Bruce's rear, drawing him in closer and bucking against him ferociously.

Bruce obliged completely, rutting at a maddeningly furious pace, trailing moan after heightening moan from Joker's throat with each thrust. Their lips crashed everywhere on each other's faces as they frotted against each other desperately like dogs, each slice of the pleasure knife searing away every last worldly thought from their brains until every neuron of theirs fired with the screaming message only deciphered to mean '_at last_._'_

Every last worldly thought except a certain thought of Bruce's, which was still tapeworming through his mind and eating away at every other sense, even those otherwise consumed with the intense melding of souls he was experiencing with his other half. Eventually he couldn't take it, and as he raised his right hand from beneath Joker's hips to pull his hair – _hard_ – he whispered in the maniac's ear, "I need to talk to you about something."

Joker hooted at the ludicrous statement, barely panting out, "You bring this up _now?_" before imprinting a love bite into Bruce's left ear. Enough to draw both blood and a deep scream from Batman, before lapping both up with coppery relish.

"It's…" Bruce began, but quickly lost his train of thought as Joker began massaging his fingers through the cloth of his pants, thumbs dipping inside to breach the belt and waistband. "I've been…thinking…"

"Fuck first, think later," Joker growled almost inhumanly into Bruce's bleeding ear, and as he felt both their loosened pants sliding off, the vigilante couldn't think of a more satisfying prospect than obeying the clown's command.

xxx

Their frenetic energy, built up from going an entire day unfulfilled by the other's presence, dissipated somewhat within the first ten feverish minutes, and they soon decided to change it up, allowing time to slow down, to _savor _every lick, feel, image, sensation. All told, they kept at it for nearly an hour before the languid pace culminated in its final outcry of blistering emotion, and it wasn't long after that they lay in Bruce's silken sheets, completely undressed and curled up against each other, eyes trailing and fingers gliding across no place in particular. Simply enjoying the moments before, at present, and to come.

Bruce pressed a third kiss between Joker's eyes, where his mouth had found itself resting naturally, and Joker's fingertips grazed through the subtle hairs on Bruce's left forearm. They moved further up, to his bicep, tracing lazy patterns across the scar from the dog bite that, even after eleven years, still hadn't faded completely. Then again, in his experience, scars never did.

"So I've been thinking…"

Joker chuckled once weakly, still not fully recovered from the high, and wrapped Bruce's chin in a kiss. Bruce closed his eyes, letting him. It would be so easy to fall asleep right here and now, giving in to the deep warmth shared between the two of them on levels far transcending the physical, but the issue was pressing, and he might as well address it while he had the chance.

"Mmm?" Joker murmured against the Bat's Adam's apple, where his lips had chosen to conquer next, before his tongue snaked out and gently coasted along Bruce's neck. He latched down then, biting lightly and teasingly, but enough to let Bruce know his intentions.

"It's about…" he suddenly sighed as Joker's hand not currently on his bicep, but rather between them, reached down lower to fondle, toying and fooling with no end in sight. But Bruce was not one to be deterred easily.

"Are you even listening?"

"Mmm-hmm," mumbled Joker into his neck, neither hand of his ceasing its ministrations.

Bruce rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile faintly. "No, you're not." He reached a hand to tangle fully in Joker's hair, cradling the man's head in his palm gently. Now that he knew how soothing it was for a baby to be stroked on the head, it was a behavior they both found mirroring onto each other, as well.

"I'm all ears," Joker croaked, licking next against Bruce's own ear, tracing the now-clotted bite mark, lapping up dried flecks of blood with a grin.

Bruce breathed a laugh. "I can see that." His fingers scratched absently at the softer hairs at the back of Joker's neck, and the goosebumps that spread over the clown's arms soon after made him smile broadly into the other's shoulder. To know that _he'd_ drawn yet another involuntary reaction out of the man, and know that _he_ had that power to set his lover alight like no one else could.

"So tell me," Joker whispered softly into Bruce's ear, breaking out the billionaire's arms into similar bumps, with a similar proud reaction from the killer, "what – or who – does this brilliant, oh-so-_important_ thought concern?"

"Well, it concerns our Gotham…"

"Mmmm-hmmm…" With Bruce still on his side, Joker still had access to his back, and ran his hand from Bruce's bicep to his shoulder blades, with the promise of lowering further very soon.

"…and Harley."

The hand abruptly stopped at the small of his back.

Joker was frozen, half-draped over Bruce, and when they craned their necks to look at each other properly, the green eyes were squinted in a state of total disbelief.

There was charged-static silence in the room for the longest twenty seconds before Joker broke it again. "You mean to tell me, Bat, that you were thinking of…_Harley_…while you fucked me and while I fucked you just now?"

"Well, no," Bruce protested, "you told me to fuck first and think _later_. So I did."

Joker let a brief chuckle out, then returned to his increasingly incredulous stare. Bruce wished he'd at least held off on mentioning Harley's name until Joker's hand had arrived at its destination, for its current position was maddeningly tantalizing.

"So," he prompted further against that stare, "about Harley…"

Joker groaned, though the sound was a far cry away from his previous vocalizations of that nature. He slumped his body down, his head falling behind Bruce's, but his body was twisted around until his legs were tangled near Bruce's front. It was a strange way to cuddle, but 'strange' was certainly an accurate description of the two of them.

"I swear, Bruce," he growled, "if it is your intention to render me unable to hold an erection _ever again_, you just keep running your mouth about that woman."

Bruce smirked at Joker's uncharacteristic distaste for a person, and sidled a glance over his shoulder to the paint-stained madman's face. "One real time with her was all it took?"

Joker scoffed. "Try ten _years_, Batbrain, with her yammering on about 'Mistah Jay' this and 'Puddin' that, and you'll see what I mean. Talk about _buzzkill_."

Bruce turned away from him, suppressing his laughter, and wove his arm out from under the psychopath to hold him closer. "You deserve it," he slurred, closing his eyes.

"And yet, _you_ deserve _me_," Joker hissed back, but followed up with another kiss to Bruce's ear. "Though now I'm indeed curious, what exactly could ever prompt you to dredge up thoughts of Dr. Quinzellllll?"

Bruce heaved a deep sigh, idly pondering what he had ever done wrong to deserve the man in his arms. "You're going to laugh…"

"Thanks for the heads-up."

"…but it was someone at the dinner tonight."

Never one to miss his cue from his Bat, Joker burst into cackles. "One of your little '_model citizens'_? Oh, how rich! And no pun intended!"

Bruce rolled his eyes again, about to remind Joker that he was speaking of a serious matter, then thought better of it – such words would only be counterproductive. "We were talking about Bruce Wayne's 'adoption', and she told me that…every girl growing up needs a female influence somewhere, somehow."

Joker had flopped out of his strange position of a Persian rug lying atop Bruce, and was sitting up, still letting a few chuckles out of his throat. Bruce was sure he hadn't heard what he'd said, until the clown replied, "…and when you think of this 'obligatory female influence'…the first woman that comes to mind is…Harley?"

"What she _is,_ is the only woman that makes sense," Bruce corrected, still laying back in the bed, not wanting to leave the warmed mattress they had both heated up for an hour. "She's been preparing to raise this kid for nine months, had the idea in her mind for years before that; when she sees Gotham she'll have every reason to believe she really is hers, and thus she'll take care of her as if she were her own. She gave birth to her, Joker-"

"And that somehow gives her the right to claim guardianship of _our_ child?"

Bruce faltered. "Well, no, but…but if it means she becomes the only realistic candidate for a mother figure for our child, then…" He could barely believe he was thinking these thoughts, let alone about to say the next word, but… "…yes."

Joker turned his back on him entirely, sitting cross-legged on the bed and staring at the door. "When you expressed your desires to _make a baby _with me, Bruce, I thought that meant you weren't part of that…'_traditional family_' camp. So what makes you think Gotham is even going to _need _a 'mother'?"

"I don't- I'm not-" Bruce really didn't know how to makes sense of it to himself, let alone how to answer the question plainly. Sighing, he hoisted himself into sitting up as well, forsaking the heat of the bed momentarily. His hand soon found Joker's to rest on top of, and Joker took it, watching the other from his eye corners thoughtfully. Attempting to turn over the new leaf in Bruce's mind.

Bruce sighed again, and wrapped his arms and legs around Joker from behind, cradling his back to his front. Joker reclined his head backward, easing onto the back of Bruce's slumped head, whose cheek rested on the other's right shoulder blade.

"I just…want to do what's right by Gotham," Bruce finally murmured into the stillness. "I don't know why I feel this is necessary; I don't even know what I'm doing, and neither do you. We don't know anything about raising a kid. But…I don't want to disadvantage her, or mess her up somehow, before she even has a fighting chance. I-"

Joker interrupted with a snort. "You don't. Want. To mess her. _Up_." His head inclined further down to watch Bruce's face, though it was turned slightly away from him, still not meeting his eyes. "Honey, look at the two of us," he said lowly, "She's been destined to be 'messed _up'_ ever since we jacked each other off into those two test tubes."

Bruce closed his eyes, and any slight caressing motions he had played about Joker's skin while holding him abruptly stopped. The truth was a cold bullet down his gullet, and he couldn't refute it.

"I just want what's best for her," he repeated in a soft whisper.

Joker considered it for a moment, then reached to softly meet his hand with Bruce's that was spread across his chest. "I know. And you know I do, too." His eyes moved off to stare ahead of him, pondering Bruce's proposal.

"So," he began again, "what you're asking of me is as follows: you want me to bring Harley back. Make sure she's alive, that she's as perky as can be, that she gets every little thing her little heart, diamond, club, and spade desires. Back in the usual business." Bruce knew that Joker's so-called _usual business_ involved nothing of the sort, and that Harley rarely, if ever, got everything she wanted (let alone needed), but he took Joker's point, and nodded against his shoulder.

"Next, you want me to bring Gotham to her. Have her laugh and poke her pudgy cheeks, make silly faces at her, change her diapers, breastfeed her-"

"Maybe…maybe not that."

Joker clucked a laugh. "I just _knew _you'd have reservations about _something_. Okay, fine, _bottle-feed_ her, blow out her first birthday candles; tell everyone how 'she's got her mommy's blue eyes'; et cetera?"

Bruce felt something squeeze painfully in his abdomen at the comment about the eyes, something that whispered of _possession_. Those weren't Harley's eyes, Gotham had _his_ eyes, and the night she was born they had nearly whispered aloud to him that _I belong to you_-

"And finally…" Joker breezed through Bruce's internal objections, "you want us both to eventually arrive at this situation: the two of us, out in the wide world, doing what we do best, Alfalfa helping you from your super-secret headquarters, while _Harley_…is the only one with Gotham…at _any _possible location in the city – which could be anywhere, you may not even know where your child is at the time – while we _trust_ _Harley_ to take care of _our_ _baby_, until I can return and pick up where I left off…with you _completely_ out of the picture."

Bruce had certainly not phrased it to himself in so many words earlier tonight. But something still remained steadfast within him, that if it was all for Gotham's sake, he would sacrifice a bit of his stubbornness for her. At length, he nodded again.

"And you'll actually bring yourself to _trust_ Harley Quinn with _your_ baby?"

"Yes," Bruce finally said, with a more determined finality than before. "But only because she'll think Gotham is her baby. But mostly because…she _knows_ that Gotham is _your_ baby. And you and I both know she'll put her life on the line for anything that's got your name on it."

Joker shrugged. "Hey, if you're okay with all that, just tell me when to bust the ol' gal outta the hospital."

Bruce's eyebrows shot up, and he stirred to rest his chin on Joker's shoulder, looking the man in the eye. "Just like that?"

Joker nodded. "Just like that." And winked.

"What made you change _your_ mind that quickly?"

The clown prince shrugged again, went back to staring absently at the wall space past Bruce's head. "It's been a long shot, admittedly, hoping you'll agree to let me break Gotham outta this fairytale castle, let her take a walk on the wild side with me every once in a while. But honestly, I've been waiting for you to arrive at this decision for 'bout a week now." He chuckled. "You and your beliefs that there are women worthy of our status as well."

"So now you're being sexist?"

"_No_, honey, you should know by now I don't discriminate _that_ broadly," Joker laughed. "I've only ever held two people in any form of high regard, and they both so happen to be men. Any woman, therefore, or any other man, for that matter, is an irrelevant sore on the ass of the world." His shoulders rolled again. "Genitalia's got nothing to do with it."

Bruce tucked his nose even closer to Joker's face, where neck met shoulder, and started slowly rocking both their bodies back and forth in his arms. "But, you do realize now," he whispered, "that Gotham came out female. So now there _is_ a female that you can hold in high regard as well, isn't there?"

Joker breathed a smirk against Bruce's forehead, shaking his head slightly at the upturned world they had both suddenly found themselves thrust into three weeks ago. "I suppose there is," he murmured.

Bruce kissed him then, and he found himself ardently responding. And as they deepened the kiss and the embrace, and felt the rest of their bodies responding just as strongly, Bruce idly pondered what he had ever done right to deserve the man in his arms.

* * *

(1) Yes, that's right: I just had Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox JUDGE someone. I'm heaping THAT MUCH hate onto my OCs.

**A/N: I think Mrs. Bennett from Pride and Prejudice changed her name to Mrs. Pierce in order to attend this party. Oops :P**

**But in case anyone's interested, I did not make up Lucius' daughter, Tamara. Tam Fox is a canon character, and has some interesting global adventures with Tim Drake, aka Red Robin. There's no Robin in this universe, but Tam's still here, featuring more prominently with Gotham and two other original kiddies of mine in a future chapter I have planned. :)**

**I must say, the most difficult thing about this particular chapter was writing Bruce Wayne, Billionaire Playboy Ladies' Man. Maybe because I've never done it so in-depth before, while I've written Bruce as Bruce and Bruce as Batman before, but never as his public Wayne persona. And I've noticed something: I like Bruce because he can be at times doubtful, vulnerable, and is all around a wonderfully deep character that resonates through us all; and I love Batman because he's so hardcore in the face of mortal peril; but truth be told…I actually found myself hating the Wayne persona as I was writing it. I think it's because of how shallow of an invincible god he gets to act around these people, with no vulnerability showing whatsoever, but I've gotta hand it to him: he has created a persona so utterly despicable and distasteful that /I/ even don't like him. Now THAT takes dedicated acting, to create such an opposite personality to put on display, all for the sake of concealing his alter ego. My respect for Bruce just went up about a million points, as if it wasn't sky-high already.**

**FINAL NOTE: THE FIRST OFFICIAL TEASER POSTER FOR THE DARK KNIGHT RISES IS HERE. TO QUOTE THE JIRACHI POKEMON MOVIE, I HAVE WAITED FOREVER FOR THIS DAY. http(colon)(double slash)upload(dot)wikimedia(dot)org(slash)Wikipedia(slash)en(slash)8(slash)83(slash)Dark_knight_rises_poster(dot)jpg**


	15. One Big Happy Family

Always and Always

Chapter 15: One Big Happy Family

**A/N: Speaking of Harley, haven't seen her in a while, so let's check in on the poor girl, shall we? Find out just how much Gotham "needs" a mother, as was just suggested :P. Besides, the last five chapters have been primarily Bruce-centric, so it's time to give Joker a moment to shine again. :)**

* * *

The rafters dripped with the perspiration of the sky. Harley knew that the playhouse couldn't exactly be called _current_ in any meaning of the word, but it would be nice to have a roof above her family's head that didn't leak. She'd have to get up there and fix it soon, if the weather reports were true and this rain kept up for another week. Maybe if she were to do something useful, Puddin would notice her again.

She closed her eyes as another fat raindrop landed with a makeup-smearing _splat_ on her left eyelid. Wincing slightly at the impact, she rubbed it off with the back of a black leather gloved hand. Her facepaint was most likely ruined by the gesture – not that it had been even remotely pretty in the past few months – but it didn't matter.

Not when he didn't even look twice at her except to chuck a hunting knife in her direction.

She sighed deeply at the thought as she opened her eyes again. It was all her fault. If she had just been watching their baby that night, instead of engaging Pamel- _Poison Ivy_ in conversation and everything else besides, none of this would have happened. She shouldn't have let Ivy in at all. Shouldn't have said a word to her. And she certainly shouldn't have let the botanist carry her dying body back to her secret Eden, shouldn't have let her nurse her back to health and keep her away from Mr. J and Gotham so long, shouldn't shouldn't _shouldn't_…

She'd rather die close by her Joker than live happily away from him. Because any sort of "happiness" without him was no happiness at all. That – that _woman_ was quite skilled at faking her happiness, selling it in a convincing manner, but Joker…without him…

…there was nothing. Nothing worthwhile, anyway. Nothing worth living for.

That thought was enough to make up her mind, and she decided to turn and look at him. Maybe this time he would notice her, would meet her eyes again. Maybe he would, and he would hurt her. Maybe he wouldn't and leave her to pine away from loneliness. Either outcome was akin to her suicide.

But it didn't matter. Because he loved her.

Slowly her head turned, until she couldn't bear it anymore and, endangerment or not, she whipped her head quickly the rest of the way, toward the left of the cot she lay upon.

Joker was sitting on the edge of it, his back to her, fiddling with the bomb in his lap. Tomorrow's agenda at the Gotham City public library called for a heavy order of ammonium nitrate, but she wished he'd put it off till morning and get some rest first. He must be _exhausted_, poor thing. Not that she was going to tell him that now, but if she didn't look out for his best interests, who would?

She sat up cautiously. Peered over his shoulder. Watched him work. He still didn't look at her. Then again, when he was caught up in his work, he barely afforded a thought elsewhere.

Even though every inch closer to him waded herself deeper within the realms of mortal peril, she could never keep away from him for long. And so she drew closer to him like a magnet, North to South, closing the distance between them to a few scant centimeters.

He was so _warm_. She could feel it. It brought her back to the memories of when she'd press close to him, wrapping her arms around his back, close to his chest while knowing she was the only one with a clear path to his heart. She remembered every time he'd hit her – in jest, of course, for it was all a joke, as he'd taught her until she understood completely with each bruise. Every time her ribs would crack from laughing so hard, tears of pain and mirth slipping her greasepaint mask until everything was bared to him, her face, her body, her soul. Every moment of pleasure she'd found cause to revel in, all because of the Truth he'd opened her eyes to.

Ten years ago, she'd finally understood. She had learned the hardest lesson of all, that life was never serious, that human suffering was an inevitable joke, that all conflict and the inner monsters that subconsciously caused it was ultimately _hilarious_. It was so simple, yet the Truth couldn't have been brought to her by anyone but him, he who had understood it since his birth. That had been the clown she'd adored, had loved just as equally as he loved her. It had been the happiest, most delirious time of her life.

But that time seemed long past now, as he hardly spared a glance at her without heartless murder in his eyes. She welcomed it, all of it, but all the same…

…lately, it was as if she didn't exist. Like she was an unworthy maggot for the squishing. She knew that, for all their equality as soul mates, she truly _was_ such a degenerate, compared to the likes of _him_, but for him to acknowledge it of his true love…

…it hurt that extra bit more, to say the least.

_He,_ on the other hand, had never looked better. True, he was older now, as it had been twelve years since they had met, but his radiance had never flickered. His green eyes had never lost their gleam of beauty; his face had never faded from its beautiful, grinning bedazzlement. He moved with the same fluid grace, perhaps even better harnessed as compared to his sporadic energy of his younger years. Then he had allowed his manic impulses to burst and to pop without warning; now he seemed to wear it better, if that were possible – simply contained it all in stride, to best utilize at the proper moment.

Her hands were reaching for him before she realized her actions, yet she went with it. She couldn't deny her yearning for him forever. Still, she lingered a hair over the cloth of his shirt, testing herself. Imagining the feel of his back, his shoulders, his bones and glorious sinews, before she touched him in earnest.

Quickly, she withdrew and took off her gloves, and hesitated for only a minute before her palms softly found their purchase. She just barely controlled her gasp in time. He was…_perfect_. Even more flawless than she had remembered. His back was strong. His shoulder blades produced the most gorgeous ridges beneath his shirt. His muscles flexed slightly as he shifted, craning his neck over his explosive creation in front of him. He was a living sculpture, chiseled by the angels.

And yet, as warm as he was, he was still so cold.

The body beneath her hands seemed so accessible, but as always, her Joker was a contradiction. He was so tantalizingly _close_, but it made him seem even further away from her. The man within her reach would never be caught, never be pinned down and understood for everything he was. Not by the cops, not by the other rogues, not by Batman (the pigheaded loon, _especially_ not him)…

…and not even by her.

She had known that from the get-go, even on that night when she'd decided to help him escape Arkham that first time. Maybe it was what had made her decision that night, that even though she'd never understand the mind of the man she'd fallen in love with, that fact made her more in love with him than ever. She had known then, and always had in the back of her mind, even when she kidded herself otherwise, that he was – and always would be – her mystery man.

Her mystery. Her man. Her Joker.

How his mind connected the most impossible dots together to concoct his missions of homicidal destruction, she'd never comprehend. How he saw through everyone's appearances and picked out their weakness buttons to press within seconds, she would never know. Why he calculated everything for which he existed to stand as an equal tower against Batman's influence, she would never begin to accurately guess.

Her hands curved around his shoulders, seeking the mystery nonetheless. The room was death-still, save for both their breathing through their nostrils. His focused, intent upon his work. Hers nervous, seeking, desperate.

She peeked her head over his right shoulder, next to his, trying to gauge his expression. It was fixed upon the bomb still, his bare fingers still coiled within the wiring, needle nose pliers and soldering iron in each grip. His eyes narrowed, completely absorbed. Silent, deadly _force_.

His Glasgow scar was right next to her cheek. Its bumps and ridges so mesmerized her, especially at moments like this. His every facial quirk was only intensified by the makeup, and the scars rendered each movement completely unique, a smile or scowl or snarl all his own. Inimitable. _His_.

Before she knew it, she had pressed closer toward the flawless disfigurement, her nose only a breath away from resting upon it. She wanted to nuzzle him, cuddle him in her arms, let him know that she lived and breathed for _him_, and only for _him_, but she didn't want to disturb his inner monologue at present. But maybe, she could get him more comfortable for thinking.

She drew a steadying, calming breath, and her hands began their slow journey of rubbing past his shoulders, down to his chest. Feeling every muscle, savoring that unyielding throb of maddening perfection beneath his shirt buttons. Her hands may be a bit cold, or maybe it was his overpowering inferno that made everything it touched frigid in comparison, but his flame beckoned her as always.

_Please_, her palms whispered as they traversed his collarbone, _tell me your secrets._ Her fingers curled through the collar of his shirt, beneath the flaps of blue hexagons. _Let me in._

She was pressed against his back now as she reached around him in her embrace, and suddenly she felt him shift. His back tensed, coiled like a spring. His fingers stilled at the bomb. He had noticed her.

_Please let me in_.

Her eyes closed for a brief instant, her nose pressed against his face, near where his hairline met his right ear. She couldn't see his expression, but she opened her eyes nonetheless and reached to the top button of his shirt. Circled her finger along the smooth disc, then folded it out of its hole.

_Come back to me, honey_.

Her breath whirred in his ear, and she could feel his own respiration increase. His heart sped up. Finally, she was getting somewhere. He had noticed her, and maybe tonight, if things kept going this well…

Her fingers reached to the next button, toying with it softly. His eyes were fixed ahead of him, seemingly on the bomb, but she knew he wasn't focused on the contraption at present. No, he was focused upon her. But at the same time, he was still so _distant_. He had always been that way, her shining star, just in her sights but always out of reach…

"_Joker_…" she whispered. The name carried more significance and perfection to her than to anyone else, and maybe, if she spoke it out loud to him, she'd find him again, and he'd come back to her, as he had always promised her with his every glance…

The second button was unleashed properly. She could see the bared patch of his chest, and how it was heaving rapidly. His eyes were staring straight ahead of him, focused, but contained to the brim. It was going to overflow soon, and it couldn't be soon enough for her. The green irises were narrowed within their black surroundings, _blazing_ with what he'd kept from her for so long. But now, he was finally going to _show_ her what he'd always wanted her to know for the past decade, _please, show me_ –

"…Daddy?"

The razor's edge in his eyes vanished instantly, put back into the corner of his mind where it always lurked like a stalking beast. All disappeared in the instant it took for his eyes to snap their focus upon the white-gowned toddler that now stood in the doorway.

She sniffled, hiccupped once, tried to wipe her eyes on her sleeve, then whimpered to him, "…ah hadded a bad dweeem…"

Joker immediately set the bomb on the floor – _carefully_ – and leapt out of Harley's embrace, across the room to pick Gotham up into his arms. "Well then, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?" he murmured softly to her, before kissing her tearstained cheek and walking off with her to her own sleeping area.

And just like that, Harley was alone again.

Or perhaps, she had never had a companion to start with.

She bowed her head, circling her thumbs around each other. Her eyes strayed to the nearly-finished bomb. Maybe she should pick it up and finish the job, so Joker could relax when he returned from Gotham's room.

Or maybe not. She tapped her thumbs together. He might get mad at her for interfering with his project.

She sat still, trying to figure out _something_ to do. Her thoughts strayed to Gotham. Poor baby, having a nightmare that frightened her like that. Especially after that incident when the little one had been four months old, if she could protect her daughter from any sort of harm or anguish, she would. Maybe she should join the other two, and help her little angel get some untroubled sleep. That was what mothers did for their daughters, right?

She was about to stand up, but something stopped her, as a terrible thought that had nagged at her for a while blossomed into a full flower of truth in her mind.

This distance she had felt from Joker had always lingered since she'd met him, but never had it presented itself quite this bluntly. Yes, he was distracted by another person in the world now, but still, it seemed as if…

…the _escalation_ in Joker's aloofness had begun…

…with Gotham.

And he fostered it within Gotham as well. She never asked to play with Harley. She never cried for Harley to help her, to give her attention, to calm her from something frightful. She never reached for Harley's hug, never kissed Harley, hardly even smiled at Harley.

She even called her Harley.

At that moment, Harley Quinn came to the paralyzing realization that never, in all her life, had she heard the words "Mommy" or "Mama" come from her own little girl's mouth.

She stood and made for Gotham's bedroom, nearly frantic with tears she'd been holding in for eighteen months of motherhood.

The tears never got a chance to leave her eyes, however, as near-identical peals of laughter echoed from her destination as she approached the doorway. She froze at the sight of Gotham, snuggled in Joker's lap, laughing with him at whatever he'd told her. Laughing so sincerely, so carefree, so _happily_. She had thought it the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard twelve years ago, when she'd first heard the Joker's cackle, but now, with both him _and_ their daughter laughing the same laugh…

…it was too divine for any words or thoughts she could conjure up.

She stood half-obscured by the doorjamb, watching the pair's laughter fit recede somewhat. "See?" Joker said to the girl, "it's not quite so _terrifying_ when you find something funny about it!"

Gotham giggled again, saying something about "an' den da dino hurtsis toe!" Joker chuckled at that, and reclined back to rest his back against the wall, holding Gotham even closer to him. Her laugh lingered in the air for a second longer before she fell silent, that alien smile (Harley could never place who she'd gotten the grin from) gracing her face.

At least Gotham's smile meant she was happy again. Once again, Joker had worked his magic upon her without any further assistance from his harlequin. And still, Harley went unnoticed, as the pair leaned back and clutched each other close, Joker's hand stroking almost absently through Gotham's hair. There was a look in his eyes that Harley had only ever dreamt of before the girl's existence, a look that she would have given anything to have directed at her.

It was quiet for a long moment before Joker broke the silence with a soft murmur. "Daddy loves his Gotham," he said, and the mentioned girl looked up at him, smiling further. "So much."

He kissed her forehead again, and she huddled closer against him, their eyes lost to each other's as they grinned with the same sentiments toward the other's face.

Harley took a step forward.

She immediately countered herself with a step back. Oh, what was she _doing?_ Things were obviously getting along just fine; there was no need to interfere…

…yes. Yes there was.

She _had_ to take this opportunity, before it passed her up forever. There was no telling when she'd get another chance like this.

Cautiously, timidly, Harley did the bravest thing she'd ever done. She trod into the room, toward Joker and Gotham, who didn't even notice her approach, so absorbed were they in each other's presence. Halfway across the room, they still didn't look up. Soon she was standing right next to them, right behind Gotham. Shaking at the close proximity to her own family, as foolish as the notion seemed.

However, she mustered every last ounce of strength to still her hand, and reached out to lightly touch her baby's shoulder. It rested there for a long while, then when she was sure the gesture wouldn't set off a fire alarm, she began soothingly rubbing across Gotham's back. Like a mother should.

The whisper tumbled out of her lips before she even contemplated whether her resolve could withstand it.

"Mommy loves her Gotham, too."

Gotham was still for a long minute. Joker didn't move, either. His face seemed more set in stone, however, but it was Gotham's she couldn't see, and Gotham's she _needed_ to see.

Gotham turned, and looked up to meet Harley Quinn's eyes.

It wasn't a look of affection, though. Rather, one of a disdainful curiosity. If an eighteen-month-old girl could look scornfully up at someone, there it was. Her eyes scanned up and down Harley, then rested on her eyes again.

Assessing her.

Whatever unspoken conclusion she had come to, she slumped down on Joker's chest again, and looked up to him. There was a barely-perceptible flicker of _I know, right?_ that passed between father and daughter's eyes before Gotham spoke again.

"Wheh we goh-a go, Daddy?"

Harley's heart withered. _When are we going to go. When are we going to leave Mommy for that secret place we always disappear to, where it's just the two of us, with no Mommy around…_

"Not for a while yet, sugar," Joker said, almost apologetically – he wanted to stay here no longer than absolutely necessary. "Daddy still has some work to finish up. But it'll be sooner than you think. Get some sleep. You'll be there when you wake up, I promise."

"…pinky-promise?"

Joker smirked. Bruce's influence could never forsake her for long, and that a piece of Batman was displaying itself right under Harley's nose, undetectable, was nearly too hilarious for the clown to contain. "Pinky-promise," he replied, and after looping pinkies in their sacred oath, Gotham curled up in her bed and Joker left, clearly implying that Harley should do the same.

She did as her intuition was told, and returned to their sleeping area, where Joker had already sat back down to work on the bomb. Still no recognition of her, still no glances in her direction. No words, no looks. Nothing.

"Mr. J…"

He continued with the bomb, uninterrupted. Ignoring her, but she pressed on all the same.

"Mr. J…I've been…well, I've been thinkin', and…"

Still nothing. His cheek puckered in a wince as some of the solder brushed by his bare finger, but it was only another addition to the countless burns and cuts sustained from years of repeated late-night work like this, so he carried on undaunted.

"…well, I think there's…there's somethin' I've been meanin' t'talk t'ya about…"

He raised his eyebrows, though it wasn't clear if it was in acknowledgment of her words. However, she decided to interpret it as such, and sat down on the bed to the left of him.

"…about Gotham. Y'see, I…I'm worried that she's, well…that she's not…quite… warmin' up to me. Y'know?"

Though he gave no outward show of it, Joker was busting a gut laughing inside. _Oh boy, do I know._

"That she's, well…how do I put this…that she's not quite, uh…_bondin'_ with me, like she has with you. Maybe it's cuz of the explosion when she was born, so I wasn't there for her first thing like you were, but…ever since then, it's been like…like she doesn't…doesn't want me, or somethin'…"

The last words were a meek little squeak into the air. Joker continued working, affixing the timer to the bomb – this one was the most important, because it was the one on display, to be _seen_ by the poor librarians before they met their inevitable fate. Oh, how giddy the thought made him.

"So I was thinkin', that maybe, maybe…maybe we should…I dunno, maybe…have a sort'a…like a family type'a thing? Yeah," she lit up at the sudden idea, "yeah, Mr. J, wouldn't that be great! Like a family activity, that we do together, all regular-like! Doesn't that sound great?"

Joker let a deep breath in through his nostrils, then exhaled just as slowly. Harley's eager face quickly fell. It had been a stupid idea, stupid stupid _stupid_, why did she have to open her big mouth when Puddin was busy working late? She made to get up –

"Y'know, Harley, you're absolutely right."

She stopped. Her heart leapt toward the heavens, shouting for joy!

"We need…a _family activity_."

Her elation couldn't be halted for anything, and she was babbling away, all caution and trepidation thrown to the wild wind. "I just knew, just _knew_ you'd agree! So, whaddya think it should be? I've got tons of ideas; maybe we should ask Gotham too, so she's got some say innit, but for starters I was thinki-"

His left hand was always quicker than the eye could ever trace when it was needed, and clamped around her throat before she could put forth her suggestions.

"Now Harley, as wonderful as your ideas would be," he grinned, "I've got something _better_ in mind. Gotham!"

She was gasping for breath, but his hand on her throat squeezed too tightly, and all she managed was a wide face, mouth agape with no air to pass through where needed.

The girl toddled into the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Yeah, Daddy?"

"Sweetheart, would you come here please? Daddy, ah, needs a _favor_."

Gotham's face lit up. She'd never gotten to help Daddy with his work before! Beaming brightly, she spirited herself over to his right side in an instant. Harley barely registered the movement as spots danced before her vision.

"Now, I need _you_…" his free hand grabbed the pliers from where he'd dropped them beside Harley's head, "to use these to hold this red wire. Hold it next to the other red one, see it?" The girl nodded, eagerly taking the pliers from him, snapping them open and closed a few times experimentally. "Now, hold those together, and _don't move them_, so I can fix them together. Got that?"

"Yeah, Daddy."

He beamed back. "Good girl." And with that, the harlequins began their first ever family activity.

Harley grasped at Joker's hand on her neck, desperately attempting to claw it off, but his grip never slackened. It only cinched tighter around her trachea with every squirm, until he could _feel_ its involuntary spasms as it tried hopelessly to suck in oxygen. Her pulse was so noticeable beneath his fingertips, hammering madly in her panic, but soon it would be fading, and he relished the body's reversal of responses that he'd brought upon thousands of other victims in the past.

Gotham giggled at the shiny liquid tin that Joker let drip onto the stripped copper of the wire. "Wha issit, Daddy?"

"It's called 'solder,' baby. But when you write it, it looks like it should be called 'soul-durrrr.'"

She laughed at the pronunciation. He laughed with her, and continued. "And y'know, _your_ name, Gotham? When you write it out and split it in two, you know what _that_ spells?" She shook her head, not having quite mastered written words just yet. He leaned in close to her and purred, "…got…ham?" (1)

She hooted her laughter loud and hard at that one, and Joker joined in gleefully, while Harley's vision nearly blacked out.

They were still laughing for a full minute, relishing the joke and the thrill of building a bomb together, when Gotham noticed just what was occupying Joker's left hand. She still grinned at Joker, though, as they finished with the solder, completing the bomb.

"Well, that's the last of them, sweetpea," Joker said, taking the pliers from her and resting them and the solder at their feet, before lowering the bomb – _carefully_ – from his lap to join the tools. "Go back to bed now?"

His hand still hadn't left Harley's neck.

Gotham's eyes met Harley's, who was frantically fighting on the edge for her life. The resentment from the previous eye contact they'd held still surfaced in the young girl's face, but then something else broke through. Some shift she wasn't quite sure how to describe.

"Daddy, wi-you fly me dare?" she asked in excitement.

Joker grinned. "Okay, let's fly." And with that, he scooped Gotham up into the air, and whisked her off like a rocketship, the pair laughing all the way to her room.

Harley gasped and wheezed for breath. Multicolored fireworks still burst before her eyes, even though she could breathe again. For however long she lay there, attempting to make the room stop spinning and get a hold back on reality, she soon found that she couldn't.

For, unknown to her, her reality was long gone, halfway across the city by now, as he snuck his way back to Wayne Manor with his and Batman's half-asleep daughter in his arms.

The harlequin lay staring up at the ceiling, fixing her blue eyes upon the single flickering lightbulb that was the only light source in the room. It wavered despairingly, and she feared it was soon to go out completely, leaving her in the dark. However, at the last second, it held its glow in place through the thinly-stretched filament. She lay in the orange glow, breathing raggedly.

Two things had just happened, two things she had never anticipated, neither one in a million years.

Joker had just been about to kill her.

And Gotham had just saved her life.

* * *

(1) It's official. I sooo want a black T-shirt with the words "got ham?" in white, with the Bat symbol between them, and a picture of a ham beneath it. 'Twould make my life that much more awesome. :D

**A/N: And as a final note, after writing this chapter, I just now sat down and figured out this entire story. I had already made major extensive notes about different incidents and the general direction I wanted it to go, but just now I sat down and listed every single chapter idea I've come up with, every event, every incident, every plot buildup, every climax and conclusion, right to the bitter end.**

**And all in all, AT THE BARE MINIMUM, this story is looking to be AT LEAST 64 chapters. And that number could easily go up, if I get more ideas for certain chapters at certain stages of the story. Yeah. 64 chapters. I hope you guys know what you've signed up for. :3**


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